


cylinder spin

by starsinew



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Choking, Dysfunctional Relationships, Ethics, Gun play, Komaeda POV, M/M, Post DR3, Recreational Suicide Attempt, Teeth and Nails, Thigh Trauma, reckless sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9232442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinew/pseuds/starsinew
Summary: Hinata wakes up in a mood. Komaeda tries to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vhaiada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vhaiada/gifts).



> aka komaeda brings a gun to a hook-up and shit gets real 
> 
> aka [hinata voice] 'WHY IS IT ALWAYS SOMETHING? Like it’s literally always fucking something…………….I can’t go a week without there being something'
> 
> aka fuck you dr3 you gave me nothing and now i have to fill in the blanks myself
> 
> i genuinely have very little to say for myself re: this fic other than it began life as a happy-go-lucky joke fic about ~~sexy russian roulette but because i am biologically incapable of not taking the joke too far it quickly mutated into probably the most screamingly extra piece of emotional dysfunction i've ever written
> 
> dedicated to @vhaiada for hacking my entire life and planting the rootkit that makes me sob despondently about komahina every single day - i hope this mess gives you at any small fraction of the amount of HNKM joy you've given me <333
> 
> as always thanks to my #1 edit hoe @ravelqueen, who in addition to putting up with my inherent wankiness enabled me into at least an extra 5000 words of content + nights spent sitting up until 4am suffering deeply with great suggestions such as 'make hinata cry'

****Komaeda realises something is amiss when he wakes up to the sound of running water from the shower room. He and Hinata spending the night together isn’t an all the time thing, but they’ve done it often enoughfor Komaeda to notice that Hinata isn’t exactly enthusiastic about mornings. Mornings for them usually look like Komaeda sitting up in bed reading, sometimes curling up with his head buried in Hinata’s chest, because Hinata’s there and he _can,_ until Hinata blinks himself awake and Komaeda does a subpar job of getting the both of them out of bed at a productive hour.

Komaeda sits up and shakes his hair out, knowing full well it’s probably in more of a mess than usual after last night. He listens to the shower run as he leans over the side of the mattress, picking through empty Blue Ram cans to retrieve his poor disrespected t-shirt from the floor. He slips it over his head, giving a half-hearted attempt to smooth out the wrinkles as he begins to think.

Sometimes Hinata gets in a Mood. Komaeda usually ends up being the one who has to deal with it – he does think most of it’s down to the fact that he explicitly volunteers for it, but the others have made remarks suggesting that they believe that he’s the most qualified. Apparently Komaeda has a higher tolerance for “being dragged up and down the goddamn island”, whatever that means. _He’s_ certainly never been subject to Hinata dragging him anywhere.

The pitter-patter of the shower comes to a sudden halt. Komaeda wriggles forward to sit on the edge of the mattress, letting one leg swing off the side, toes skimming the floor, tucking the other up against his body. He clears his throat as he fusses with the hem of his shirt, draping it over his top of his thighs in a calculated manner. It’s artless, but it will have to do. He’s banking on it getting messed up anyway.

Komaeda’s experience with the matter has yielded several strategies for dealing with Hinata’s Mood. Very few of them involve him wearing underwear.  

The door to the shower room creaks a little as it folds inwards. Hinata wanders out, towel tucked around his waist, scrubbing at an eye almost irritably. He’s pulling the door closed behind him when he notices Komaeda. He seemingly continues to notice things about Komaeda, about his general demeanour and countenance, for a moment longer, eyes widening like this hadn’t been the thing he’d expected to see first thing in the morning.

“…Morning,” he finally says. ‘Irritable’ is the diplomatic word – ‘cranky’ is the honest one.

“Good morning, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, bright-voiced even despite the confirmation of his suspicions, because he always kind of enjoys the thought of being the recipient of Hinata’s first words of the day, “Did you get enough sleep?”

“Nnnn,” is the only response Hinata gives him. He looks like he’s looking for someone to give him a reason to roll his eyes.

So not just his general disdain for waking early, Komaeda observes.

“If you didn’t,” he sits up straighter – his shirt rides up a little, “You could always come back to bed.”

Hinata considers him for a moment, gaze idle. “You want to do it,” he says, like it’s an accusation.

Ahhh, Hinata sees through him like glass, sometimes. Komaeda smiles at him. “If it’s what Hinata-kun wants, then I have no complaints.”

Hinata gazes at him for a moment longer. “I just showered,” he says, finally, and then he’s wandering over to his dresser, and that seems to be the end of it.

Komaeda gently, totally-not-purposefully, kicks at one of the cans at his feet. He climbs to his feet, begins investigating where exactly his underwear had ended up last night. Once he’s tracked down his jeans and wriggled back into them, he sits on the foot of the bed, watching Hinata dress himself.

“You’re staring,” Hinata points out.

“I’m sorry, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, “I get carried away sometimes.”

“No, it’s…” His fingers pause. “It just can’t be _that_ interesting.”

“It’s fascinating.” But what he means is ‘ _you’re_ fascinating’. It’s not an exaggeration– he could watch Hinata all day.

“Mmmph.” He pulls the tie through the loop he’s made. “Sure. You’re really weird, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” Komaeda says pleasantly, “I’m aware it’s offensive. I’ll try harder next time.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Hinata grumps, wrenching a drawer open with a little too much force.

Komaeda could point out that he _has_ stated that very thing in the past, but he doesn’t, because he’s learned by this point that Hinata prefers peace and quiet when he gets like this (in no small part thanks to the numerous _‘Komaeda, seriously, shut the_ **_fuck_ ** _up’_ s he’s received). He crosses one leg over the other, watching Hinata get into his shirt, idly contemplating the way it’s _almost_ long enough to cover his pink and white boxers.

He should probably chastise himself for being so shameless. Should. Probably. Hinata could do it, if he really wanted. But neither of them ever do.

“You really didn’t have to wait for me,” Hinata tells him as he’s sliding into his pants.

Komaeda shrugs. “I’m not really in a state to go anywhere, Hinata-kun.” What he _really_ means is that he’s not really in a state to be seen by the others, in last night’s wrinkled clothes with his hair roughed up. It would be damning evidence for the both of them. It isn’t for his own sake that Komaeda is concerned – it’s more that he dreads the thought of Hinata having to _admit_ to the things they’re doing, having the others know he’s debasing himself like this on a fairly regular basis.

Hinata looks at him for a moment. Komaeda feels like he’s being analysed. “Yeah,” he says, idly, “You’re kind of a mess.”

Komaeda wonders if he does an adequate job of biting down on the little shiver that’s threatening to tremble down his spine, or if Hinata sees through it anyway. Hinata gives no indication either way, just turns  to his dresser, rummaging through it for a moment. He turns back to Komaeda with a hairbrush in his hand.

“You’re _always_ kind of a mess, though.” This is a part of the whole mood thing that Komaeda might be a _little_ self-indulgent about. Hinata can be haughty, sometimes caustic, but he’s rarely mean. Being on the receiving end of such a rare thing gets Komaeda a little heated.

“Yes,” Komaeda says, rapturously, “And it’s just amplified by being in Hinata-kun’s shining presence.”

“ _Ugh,”_ is Hinata’s response, as he approaches Komaeda, brush in hand. Komaeda blinks when he circles back around him, planting a hand in Komaeda’s hair and beginning to drag the brush through the strands.

Komaeda hadn’t been counting on this – not after seeing Hinata’s terminally bored stiff expression the second he’d come out of the shower.

“How do you _live_ like this?” Hinata sighs, sounding irritated, and then the brush is snagging in Komaeda’s hair, making him hiss and wince.

“Constant conviction in hope,” Komaeda answers, “And also self-awareness about my own inherent uselessness and atrocity.”

“ _What_ ?” Hinata asks, sounding annoyed, “I’m talking about your hair. It’s _matted down_ in places. How do you stand it?”

“It tangles easily,” Komaeda says, letting his head be yanked back with little resistance, “It’s always been brittle and weak like this.”

Another yank. Komaeda closes his eyes. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“What would be the point?” Komaeda asks, settling in and letting Hinata jerk him around by the hair whichever way he pleases. “I’m still repulsive whether my hair is neat or not.”

“The _point_ is, it’s annoying looking at it,” Hinata grumbles, “It could be nice if you looked after it.” He feels fingers, digging through, parting his hair. “ _Jeez,_ Komaeda, the underside is all fucked up, too. Do you _ever_ brush your hair?”

“ _Ah!”_ Komaeda yelps, because the brush is _ripping_ through his hair, and he’s quite certain strands are splitting in half, judging from how it stings and burns at the roots.

“ _Well,”_ Hinata actually snaps, “That’s your own fault, isn’t it?” He drags the brush through again, and involuntary tears spring to the corners of Komaeda’s eyes because it _stings_ as it gets jammed in his hair again.

The yanking abates for the moment. He feels fingers combing through his hair, feels them getting stuck. Hinata makes a grinding noise of irritation from somewhere up above, and then the brush drags through again. The process repeats until it stops tugging and stinging.

Hinata sighs. “I think that’s as good as I’m going to get it.” He drops the brush on the mattress beside Komaeda, circling around to the front of him, bending down to peer at him.

“Hinata-kun’s benevolence is wasted, though I’m thankful you would even attempt to improve upon my unsightly appearance,” Komaeda says, reaching a hand up to drag his own fingers through his hair. For what it’s worth, they don’t get stuck. It’s been a while since he’s been able to do that – not since he’d woken up, he thinks. “It’s futile, of course. It won’t stop me from being… how does Saionji-san put it?” He tilts his head, considering it. “A ‘skeletor-looking bitch?’”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Hinata sighs, for what will certainly not be the last time today, “First – Saionji _really_ needs to shut the fuck up sometimes, and second-” He prods a stabbing finger into Komaeda’s chest, pushing him back a little, “You’re _not_ a skeletor-looking bitch.” He glares.

“I can show Hinata-kun my ribcage if he likes,” Komaeda chirps, “But I think he’s seen it enough times to remember by now.”

Hinata rolls his eyes. He takes Komaeda by the chin, tilting it up, forcing eye contact, close and immediate.“You think you’re being cute right now? Because you know, you were actually probably in better shape _during_ the coma, since you seem to think taking your meds and eating proper meals is optional. You’re so worried about your ribs looking ugly, then _take better care of yourself_.” Komaeda takes a breath as Hinata reaches up with a thumb, brushing the lingering tears from his eyes. Komaeda’s seen him like this enough times to realise when he’s just venting steam, looking for something to be annoyed with.

Hinata looks at him for a moment longer. Another sigh. “Speaking of,” he says, “Let’s go get breakfast. I need coffee.”

Komaeda knows he can’t go to breakfast looking like he does, so he stops by his cottage on the way so he can attempt to shape himself into less of a wreck. Sometimes Hinata waits for him. This apparently won’t be the case today - Hinata continues on down the path, throwing a half-hearted wave over his shoulder. Komaeda pauses, watching him go, drumming his fingers against the doorframe as he takes in how _tense_ Hinata looks as he retreats.

He hums to himself as he presses his door shut. He lingers in the doorway for a moment, stretching his arms up over his head as he thinks.

He’s always favoured a gentle approach to Hinata’s moods. He’s never tried _provoking_ them. It could be beneficial to know exactly what they’re dealing with – how dark Hinata can go. How blindingly bright he’ll no doubt be when he comes back to himself. Komaeda could do it – he’s perfectly positioned. If he misjudged the situation, if he were to push Hinata too far, then there’d be no great loss. Better him than one of the others.

He pivots, slowly, staring at the space under his bed. He breathes out a laugh.

“Well, why not?” he asks the empty room, dropping to his knees and stretching out on his belly to feel around under the bed.

He retrieves what he’s after, then takes a quick shower, slipping into grey jeans and a loose white t-shirt with a low neckline. He pauses in front of his dresser mirror, combing his fingers through his hair, peering at how it stays in place, upright. He smiles without even really meaning to.

By the time he gets to the dining room, quiet chaos has descended.  Tanaka is busily affixing a paper talisman to Sonia’s shoulder, glancing askance down the table. Koizumi has her hand on Saionji’s knee as though she’s holding her back from something. Owari and Nidai are stone-faced; Kuzuryuu wears an expression of impatience, chin resting on his hand.

Hinata sits in the middle of this visibly abysmal breakfast, sipping from a mug of coffee and buttering a croissant.  

“Oh, hey!” Souda almost bellows, pushing his chair back with a screech as he jumps to his feet. “Komaeda’s here! Finally!”

“Ah,” Komaeda says, taken aback, “Good morning, Souda-kun!” Komaeda can count on one hand the amount of times Souda has personally greeted him at breakfast, caution washing over him, even more so when Souda descends upon him, throwing an arm about his shoulders and roughly hauling him off towards the window. Komaeda has to bite down on the instinct to flinch out of his grip – there’s a part of him that still feels the  impulse to dance out of the way of sudden touch. He knows Souda doesn’t mean him any _active_ harm, and makes himself settle, trying to drop his shoulders as Souda cradles them.

Hinata barely reacts to this commotion, continuing to sip his coffee and make eye contact with exactly no one.

“Hey, man!” Souda continues to speak very loudly, which Komaeda finds unnecessary, as he is currently within spitting distance of Komaeda’s ear and seemingly determined to take full advantage of that, “How did you sleep! You feeling okay? You feeling good? You feeling ready to face the day?”

“Every new morning is a new opportunity for hope to shine,” Komaeda says, neat and sincere.

Souda lets out a laugh that is entirely too loud and decidedly nervous. “Oh man,” he says, “That’s so good! That’s really awesome!”

Komaeda isn’t quite sure how to proceed – he knows for a fact that Souda is not as enthusiastic about hope as he is acting. He pulls Komaeda even closer to him, lowering his voice. Mioda is regaling Pekoyama about something – some kind of exotic bird that Pekoyama is denying the existence of, that Mioda had _totally_ seen roosting on top of the ruin, really, Peko-chan should come with her and _see_. He suspects that Hinata really couldn’t care less about the content of his and Souda’s discussion, but it’s a convenient cover regardless.

“So uh,” Souda says, “You’ve noticed, right?”

Komaeda plasters a smile across his face. He does not have the patience to play games with Souda. “I have noticed, yes.” He leaves out the part about noticing because they’d woken up together.

“Okay, well,” Souda says, “It’s bad.”

Komaeda glances over his shoulder, just in time to witness Hinata taking an entirely benign bite out of his croissant. He turns back to Souda, smile still level on his face. He’s seen worse.

“Look,” Souda says, raising his hands defensively, “I know it looks chill now, but-”

“The mood _did_ seem dour when I walked in,” concedes Komaeda.

“Yeahhh. Uh. Saionji kind of,” Souda’s eyes dart to the side as if in panic – he gesticulates so wildly that Komaeda’s slightly surprised it doesn’t catch Hinata’s attention after all, “Told him to stop sulking or she’d punch him in the throat.”

“Ah,” Komaeda says, raising his eyebrows.

“And he just kind of,” Souda clears his throat, “ _Looked_ at her. And, well, you know, Hinata’s not violent, but… you _saw_ him put a Future Foundation goon through a wall. We all did.”

They had indeed. Komaeda remembers it fondly.

“So, yeah.” Souda shrugs. “Maybe you could… I mean. You’re good with him. When he’s like this. I think it’s the crazy- uh. No offense.” He’s seconds away from breaking into a visible sweat. “It’s, you know. The _good_ kinda crazy.”

“It’s no trouble,” Komaeda says, agreeably, “Please don’t waste your concern or guilt on me, Souda-kun.” That Souda finds him even remotely redeemable, after all.

“Oh, cool,” Souda says, looking relieved, “But yeah. Take him to a movie or something! Be a real pal!”

Komaeda _could_ dwell on the fact that the last time he’d been at the theatre with Hinata it had been during a group movie night. Apparently despite Hinata sitting beside Souda, he hadn’t taken notice of the discreet handjob Komaeda had given Hinata that night. Komaeda _had_ always wondered about that. He’d known it was a risk going into it, of course, but it seems his talent can’t be a complete waste _all_ the time.

“Don’t worry, Souda-kun,” he says, “I will do my very best to be a… _pal._ ” He tries to imagine it – Hinata calling him a ‘pal’. His imagination doesn’t seem to find it a very realistic prospect.

Souda claps him on the back. Komaeda tenses up – he’s not sure if he’ll ever be used to people touching him casually, like it’s nothing, like they don’t even have to think about it. Komaeda wishes he could be more like that – not so calculated about every touch he gives and receives.

He steps out from under Souda’s arm. “I’ll handle it,” he promises. He will – one way or another.

He takes two croissants and a small mount of the guava masala Hanamura put out for breakfast. He catches Hinata looking at him, and reaches out for another heaping of guava masala for good measure. He holds Hinata’s gaze as he slips a piece into his mouth, Hinata’s eyes might flicker, just a little, before he glances back down into his coffee, then out the window as he takes another sip. Komaeda raises a hand to cover his mouth, licks salt off his lips, wonders if it’s good enough to win Hinata’s approval.

On normal mornings, it’s not uncommon for idle chatter and laughter to persist during breakfast and continue into the early afternoon. Sometimes Komaeda even contributes successfully to the conversations. Today the rest of them all trickle away quickly enough, until it’s just him and Hinata, who still seems determined to finish his coffee watching the beach through the window.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, keeping his voice pleasant, as he traces patterns with his finger on the tablecloth, “Do you want to go watch a movie with me?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Hinata says, not looking up, “I was thinking about going and taking a nap.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Komaeda says, fluttering his lashes, “Of _course._ How _presumptuous_ of me, to take Hinata-kun’s kindness in spending _any_ amount of time with someone as wretched as me as an indication that someone as _singularly resplendent_ as him would _ever_ want to make a regular habit of-”

“Oh,” Hinata groans, rolling his eyes. “My _god_. If I go with you, will you stop with that shit?”

Komaeda levels him a pleasant smile. “I will be silent for the entire movie if that’s what makes Hinata-kun happy.”

“That _better_ be a promise,” Hinata grumps.

“I would never lie to you, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda coos.

“Fantastic. Amazing.” He stands up, pushing his chair back with a screech. “Let’s go, then.”

Hinata is quiet as they wander over to the bridge. Komaeda is content to fill the silence, even as Hinata is tense beside him. He isn’t told to be quiet - he figures Hinata will tell him if he becomes too grating, even for him. He’s very candid, in these moods.

Hinata does perk up a little when they get to the projector room, eyes turning keen and sharp as he prowls around the projector.

Komaeda faces the rows of film canisters lining the wall. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hinata says, not even sparing Komaeda a look as he considers the projector, “Anything. Just bring me something.”

“Hm.” He runs a finger along the canister spines, trusts his luck, doesn’t idle. He pulls one out, returns to Hinata, holding it out for him.

Hinata reads the label. Gives him a strange look. “ _’Il deserto rosso’?”_  he asks, “That’s… not the chillest movie you could’ve picked.”

“Were we seeking chill?” Komaeda asks.

“ _’Seeking chill’,_ ” Hinata repeats, sounding a little strangled.

“What?”

“…Nothing.” He takes the canister, turns back to the projector.

It’s an old one, according to Hinata, probably from around the 1960s – Komaeda had asked him about it once, and even though he hadn’t really understood things like _xenon arc_ and _cellulose triacetate,_ the stark interest in Hinata’s eyes had been enough to keep him captivated. Hinata tinkers with the machine, winding film and clicking panels into place. He almost looks _content_ when he’s done – it makes Komaeda’s heart flutter.

“Coming?” Hinata asks, tilting a look over his shoulder, and Komaeda trails after him.

Emboldened by the hint of a slightly better mood, Komaeda’s first attempt to deal with the situation starts with him climbing into Hinata’s lap, because the sitting on his cock and riding him into the theatre seat approach has been well-received in the past, and there’s no reason to assume it won’t be again. It’s a low level, base strategy, but if flashing him when he’s half-awake and bleary-eyed doesn’t work, then draping himself across Hinata’s lap tends to.

Except Hinata is Hinata, _all_ parts of Hinata, and this part of Hinata has apparently decided that this particular avenue of amusement is now a nuisance, which is _really_ inconvenient, if Komaeda’s being honest.

“Didn’t you want to watch the movie?” Hinata asks him, catching Komaeda by the chin and holding his jaw in place.

“I’m ambivalent,” Komaeda coos.

“ _You_ picked out this depressing existentialist bullshit,” says Hinata, “You know. Just in case you forgot.”

“I’m flexible when Hinata-kun needs me to be,” Komaeda says, scraping his nails down the interlocking teeth of Hinata’s zipper, “It’s a small sacrifice to make.”

Hinata grabs him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “That was a cute innuendo,” he says, his tone suggesting that he does not, in fact, find it cute at all, “But we’ve done that a _million_ times.”

Moody Hinata is given to hyperbole. And spurning perfectly reasonable sexual advances that require him to do absolutely nothing, apparently. Komaeda is maybe just a _little_ disappointed as he slinks back to his seat in defeat, slumping down against the fuzzy red material until he’s at an angle his spine will likely soon regret.

Komaeda is at his wits’ end by the time they leave the theatre. Hinata is kicking up a truly unnecessary amount of sand as he walks.

“I should probably just go back to my cottage,” Hinata sighs.

Komaeda offers him a smile. “If you really want some quiet time,” he says, “Why don’t we go to the library?”

They’d raided the storeroom in the old hotel building one afternoon, shoving spare blankets and pillows into a basket and carting them over to the library. They stay folded under the longest table in the room, until the mood strikes them and he and Hinata drag them out and assemble a nest to read in. If any of the others have noticed, they haven’t mentioned it. Komaeda is mentally keeping a count of the days that pass by without Saionjioudly making some crass remark about what they may or may not get up to in the library. He knows it’s only a matter of time. Not that he and Hinata have ever actually done anything nefarious in the library (yet), but he suspects no one will actually care about the truth.

Sometimes Komaeda wonders what they think the truth might actually be. He knows they’re not all conveniently unobservant like Souda is. How troubling, he thinks.

Hinata pauses as he considers Komaeda’s suggestion. “I guess,” he says, finally.

Komaeda could grin, but a lot of the others say he looks creepy when he does, and he needs Hinata to go along with this. He still has a new approach he wants to test out.

The library is dark and quiet when they push the heavy doors open. Komaeda thanks his luck – the library isn’t exactly the social hotspot of the island, but he knows that Sonia and their Togami in particular are fond of spending time there. He reaches out, flicks the light switch with a pleased hum at how smoothly a turn this has taken.

Hinata walks away as the lights flicker on, quick to disappear. “Do you want the blankets?” Komaeda calls across the room, “Or would you prefer reading at a table?”

“Blankets,” is Hinata’s idle response, tossed out from the maze of shelves. Komaeda can tell he’s barely even listening, as engaged with prowling through the rows of books as he is. Komaeda kind of preens a little at that – the blankets carry a more favourable implication than the table does.

By the time Komaeda has a reading nest set up for them, Hinata’s returned, book in hand. Komaeda averts his eyes from the cover – twice now he’s caught Hinata surreptitiously chipping away at some obviously florid romance story, and twice now Hinata’s gotten extremely defensive about it, like he expects Komaeda to ridicule him for it. Komaeda insisting that he finds it absolutely wonderful that Hinata holds such hope for love in his heart only seems to make it worse, and it’s easier just to not bother, even if he really wants to, and go in search of his own book.

Hinata cranes his head up when Komaeda returns, squinting a little to make out the title of the book in Komaeda’s hands. “ _’Tainted_ _Provenance: When, If Ever, Should Torture Evidence Be Admissible?’”_ He raises his eyebrows. “Planning something?”

“You know how I like ethical conundrums, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says lightly, sinking to his knees on the blankets. He makes note of the fact that the concept of torture is the first time Hinata’s shown even a single spark of a smile all day. Very interesting.

“Yeah.” He tilts his head. “I’d say don’t get any ideas, but you _always_ have ideas, so…”

Not for the first time, he thinks about how _perceptive_ Hinata is. “I like to be prepared,” he says.

“I’ve noticed,” Hinata says, raising his eyebrows.

Komaeda rests his hand on his thigh, curling over his pocket. A smile winds across his face. Hinata doesn’t smile back, but the look in his eyes is less dour, and Komaeda considers the possibility that he might be on the right track.

He crawls over to Hinata, keeping an eye on him as he slides into his personal space. Hinata seems to have no issue with it, or with letting Komaeda lay his head on his lap. A breeze licks in through one of the open windows, catching Komaeda’s hair slightly. Hinata’s body heat finds Komaeda’s own through fabric, and if he tilts his head the right way, he can feel the edge of Hinata’s hipbone with his cheek. An absent hand wanders down, as if to halt his progress further, settles in his hair until it’s gone, and Komaeda hears a page turn from up above.

He knows what happiness feels like. Komaeda lives his life in troughs and zeniths, face ground against dirt and choking on despair, holding starlight in his mouth until it dissolves enough for him to swallow. This, lying in Hinata’s lap with the ocean air drifting through the window, isn’t happiness. Komaeda thinks that it’s the one thing his worthless talent has ever been good for – blessing him with the privilege of feeling true, rapturous happiness.  

He’s never felt anything like pure hope. Sometimes he feels like it lives in the roots of his teeth, metastasising quiet and wise in his bloodstream, keeping him sedated until it needs him to act. Then there’s a sharp spike of gain, ratcheting up through impossible, imaginary numbers, making him tremble and salivate, unfocusing his eyes and his rational mind, squeezing on his lizard brain until it feels like it’s sluicing out of his ears and nose in glistening pink matter.

This isn’t happiness. It’s uncertain, unfocused, drifting. Komaeda can’t believe in this, can’t get on his knees in genuflection for this. Komaeda knows it isn’t like hope – something like this, so swirling, so indistinct, can’t be a constant. Stability is an illusion he’s never counted on – he knows that this feeling, this steady vibration in his chest, is something he won’t have a chance to comprehend before it leaves him.

It’s easy to drift in it, though, slotted in between Hinata’s limbs, pages turning above him, the scent of dust and aged paper tickling his nose. It’s easy to get comfortable.

Too easy.

He has a purpose here, after all.

“Hey, Hinata-kun.” He sits up. Hinata doesn’t even notice, apparently, so engrossed in his book. He reaches into his jacket.

Hinata doesn’t even glance up from his book. “Mmmm?”

“Can I have your attention for just one second?”

Hinata raises his eyes like it’s some tremendous labour. Then his eyes widen. Then he stares. It’s the kind of stare that makes Komaeda think he’d be swishing his tail, if he were a cat. “…What are you doing?”

Komaeda shrugs, lets the muzzle drift from his temple a little. “It’s a game.”

“Oh yeah, suicide play.” Hinata’s voice is dry like the pages of the old books that surround them. “ _That_ classic.”

“Hinata-kun has been _so_ bored all day,” Komaeda says, “I have to take responsibility for his entertainment.”

“By blowing your brains out?” Dry. _So_ dry. Komaeda briefly considers letting the plan go and just letting Hinata talk down to him all day. Hinata arches an eyebrow. “You know you’re more interesting to me alive than dead on the library floor, right?”

How Komaeda could preen at that. Instead he just smiles, waving the gun idly. “But here I am,” he says, “Alive.”

“Maybe not if you keep pushing that luck of yours,” remarks Hinata.

“But isn’t it so much more _interesting_ ,” Komaeda asks, leaning forward, “To push one’s luck?”

Hinata is silent, eyebrow still raised. Komaeda takes that as a _go on._

“Don’t you want to see where the limits are, Hinata-kun? Where _my_ limits are?” His voice is breathy, and it totally isn’t even on purpose – he’s just that into the idea of Hinata watching him, being unable to look away.

Hinata gives a generous roll of his eyes at this, making eye contact with the ceiling for a good five seconds. He reaches out and grabs Komaeda’s wrist, his movements careful and measured as he gently lowers the gun to a level where it (probably, but Komaeda has learned that certainty rarely has a place in his life) won’t put a bullet through Komaeda’s skull.

“Alright,” he says, “You’ve made your point.”

“What point would that be, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda asks, cocking his head.

“I’m being a baby,” Hinata says, “I get it. You can just, you know, _tell_ me when I’m being an ass, instead of waving guns around. “ He lets go of Komaeda’s wrist to push a hand through his hair, looking utterly harrassed.

Komaeda is troubled by this. Hinata has missed the point entirely. He could tell him he’s being wholeheartedly sincere, but, well…

There _is_ a more efficient way to convey that sentiment.

“Do you ever wonder about _talking_ about things more instead of just assuming the other person gets it, because-” Hinata is saying.

He barely even has time to blink before Komaeda has the cool muzzle pressed against his temple again, flicking his thumb as he cocks it.

“Um,” is Hinata’s blank-faced response.

“I guess this is round one, then,” Komaeda trills.

Hinata’s mismatched eyes are painfully wide as he leaps forward “ _Komaeda,_ **_wait_ ** _-!”_

Too slow. Komaeda feels the serene smile crawl across his face – another pound of pressure-

_Click._

It feels like he falls for a very long time, knocked backwards by Hinata’s attempt at a tackle and disarm. Hinata looks down at him with wild, frenzied eyes, the remnants of a cried-out _no!_ stillon his lips. Komaeda idly wonders how hard his heart must be beating, how fast. Then the breath is knocked from him as his back hits the floor, the full weight of Hinata slamming against his chest, grinding him harder into the sheets. His back arches up off the floor, clawing an aborted wheeze half into his lungs before Hinata pushes him down again, fisting a hand in his shirt.

There’s something so exhilarating about being denied breath, but it could just be that he’s in Hinata’s presence. Komaeda really can’t tell sometimes.

Hinata hauls himself up, one hand plastered beside Komaeda’s head, the other still clenched in the front of Komaeda’s t-shirt, jerking him up a little. He’s panting, Komaeda notices – he’s _darling,_ Komaeda thinks. He stares down at Komaeda as if to discipline him, as if _that’s_ all it’s ever taken to stop Komaeda, as if he could possibly, when Komaeda’s just been proven correct.

“Click click,” Komaeda chirps, when he’s managed to draw in a meagre little breath.

Disbelief floods Hinata’s face. It’s a point of pride for Komaeda that he’s still able to wrangle that sort of reaction from him.

“Uh, yeah. You know what definitely _isn’t_ funny?” Hinata finally says, eyes narrowing, “ _That.”_

“I was trying to be amusing, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, “Not funny.”

Hinata responds by letting go of Komaeda’s shirt, and the next second fingers are wound up in his hair, tight enough to tangle. Komaeda hisses through his teeth just a little when Hinata tugs, jerking his head back so that Komaeda has to look up at him through his lashes.

“Do I _look_ amused?” His words are quick, slipping into one another, like he’s eager to spit them out.

Well, _strictly_ speaking, Komaeda thinks, watching Hinata’s pulse skip in his throat. Hinata’s expression twists, then, and he lets out a sigh, releasing Komaeda from his grip, sitting back on his haunches and pressing his hands to his face, covering his mouth and nose as he takes a deep inhale. He closes his eyes for a moment, and concern wells up in Komaeda’s chest. He levels himself up on his elbows, trying to get a closer look at the other boy.

“Hinata-kun?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Hinata says, words muffled behind his hands, “You know that, right?”

“Do what, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata cracks his eyes open. Waves a vague hand. “This kind of stuff.”

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, “If it’s _really_ too extreme for you, we can make it a more normal game.”

“Oh yeah,” Hinata says, and the only appropriate term for his tone is ‘cranky’, “All those _normal games_ that involve shooting yourself in the head.” He reaches down and takes the gun from Komaeda’s hand. Komaeda gets the sense that he’d be vicious about it if he could, but the live firearm probably complicates things.

“Potentially,” Komaeda corrects.

“Yeah, sorry,” says Hinata, setting the gun down out of Komaeda’s reach, “ _Potentially_.”

“What if every time you flinch or otherwise panic when I take the shot, I win the round, and you have to remove an item of clothing?” Levity is imperative now. The fact that Hinata has consistently demonstrated an interest in having Komaeda naked in his presence is a happy coincidence, given that things tend to pan out favourably, if not exactly _smoothly,_ when he and Hinata share an objective.

“…What,” is Hinata’s perfectly pleasant response (he would’ve _never_ gotten a reaction like that out of Kamukura).

“Conversely,” Komaeda continues, “If you _don’t_ flinch, _I_ have to remove an item of clothing.”

“What,” Hinata says again.

“So I believe that means you’re down by one, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda chirps.

Hinata looks at him like the dark spiritual energies Tanaka is forever rhapsodising about have finally manifested in the physical world, and Komaeda has been exposed for his true nature as the gateway to hell (this has been implied on more than one occasion. Komaeda tends to shrug it off – who is he to offer his opinion on dark and ancient lore?). He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, hesitates, eyes darting to the side for a second, before his mouth closes again. Komaeda waits patiently as Hinata repeat this process another three times.

“Yeah, quick question,” Hinata finally manages, “What happens if you actually die?”

Komaeda smiles wider as he sits up fully. That is not a rejection. _That_ is a request for clarification.

“You can do whatever you want with my body, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda assures him, “Living or dead. The mere thought of being useful to you leaves me brimming with hope. I am yours to use as you see fit.”

“Komaeda,” Hinata cuts in, something that looks eerily like defeat creasing his brow, “I. Look. Can you _not_ talk about- corpses aren’t my- _what_ am I saying?” He rakes a hand over his face, staring off into the middle distance for what Komaeda assumes is a grounding moment. “That’s not even what I was _talking_ about. What would I tell the others?”

“That I’d inflicted a fatal gunshot wound upon myself?” Komaeda doesn’t understand the issue.

“And that I just sat there and let you do it?”

Komaeda shrugs. “If you’re talking about the possibility of your own culpability-”

“It’s not a _possibility,”_ Hinata breaks in, sounding very, very tired, “It’s a fact.”

“I was aware of the risks,” Komaeda says, “I acted of my own free will.”

“Yeah,” Hinata says, “I’m sure the others would be fine with that explanation. Don’t worry, Hinata, it’s cool if you just sat there like an idiot and let him do it, he knew what he was getting into.”

“Are you suggesting anyone would care?” Komaeda asks, idly thumbing back the gun’s hammer and letting it snap back into place.

The resulting click feels heavy in the silence. Hinata stares at him, brow furrowed, mismatched eyes looking almost stunned.

“I’ve said something objectionable,” Komaeda observes. It seems to jerk Hinata out of whatever had him suspended in his stupor in the first place – he’s reverted back to looking annoyed, almost angry.

“Of _course_ they’d care,” he says, sounding a little breathless, “How can you…”

“I’ve never seen any compelling evidence that they would,” Komaeda says.

Hinata goes mute again. His lips are set in a thin line, eyes wide.

“…Have I upset you?” Komaeda asks. He feels tentative, all of a sudden – he still isn’t the best at reading tone, and Hinata sometimes doesn’t take so kindly to talk of death. Mistakes are to be expected of someone as worthless as him, but he still loathes himself for every little slip up.

“Yeah,” Hinata grinds out, “You _could_ say that.”

“Is it because you think I’m casting negative aspersions on your friends?” Komaeda asks, “Because that isn’t my intention. I care very deeply for them all. All I’m saying is that my death would be inconsequential, and they would be sensible enough to treat it that way.”

“Yeah, Komaeda,” Hinata says, voice rising so high it’s almost a shout, “The first word that comes to mind when I think about you lying dead in that warehouse is ‘inconsequential’. Good call.”

Komaeda cocks his head. “It’s an accurate thing to say, isn’t it?” he says, “My plan failed in the end. I killed myself for nothing.”

“Komaeda,” Hinata says, voice raw, as if he’s been  coughing. He scrubs at an eye with a hand. “Stop. Okay? Just. Stop talking like that. _God._ Why,” his voice turns heavy with something like defeat, palm pressed firmly against his forehead like he’s trying to hold it together, “are you _like_ this?”

Komaeda is unsure of what to say. He can tell he’s made Hinata angry in some way, and he can tell he’s making it worse by speaking candidly.

“I _would_ care,” Hinata says, after a long silence. “In case you wondered. If something happened to you. I’d care a lot.”

It’s strange – Komaeda has to _make_ himself smile. “Hinata-kun is so-”

“No,” Hinata almost snaps, “Don’t _do_ that. Don’t- don’t make this about how fucking kind I am, or how you don’t deserve it, or- or whatever bullshit it is that you tell yourself.”

Komaeda tilts his head. “But isn’t it the truth?”

Hinata gives him a long, mute stare. “Asking again,” he finally says, “Why are you like this?”

Komaeda just tilts his head, a smile washing across his face. “Hinata-kun is well aware of my long and storied history of wretchedness.”

“You’re not _wretched_ ,” Hinata says, opening his eyes and fixing them on Komaeda like he’s been programmed to chastise him as an automatic function, “You just. You know. Sometimes you… do things like try to make Russian roulette sexy. And that’s not, you know, _objectively_ a terrible thing, that’s just… who you are as a person.”

Hinata is doing that thing he does when he’s trying to talk himself through something he doesn’t quite grasp yet, pauses and diplomatic hesitations littering his voice (‘talking out of his ass’, as Owari likes to phrase it). Like he’s worried he’s going to hurt Komaeda’s feelings. It always manages to get Komaeda a little flushed when he does that – he can feel the heat creeping up from his collarbone, maybe peeking up over the low neck of his shirt.

“And just because, uh. Probably no one else would ever think of that, it doesn’t mean-” Hinata is continuing, complexion taking on an unusually grey tone.

Komaeda realises that Hinata is dying out here. “Hinata-kun,” he cuts in, keeping his voice soft, “Are we playing or not?”

Hinata stares at him for a long second. Then he lets out a sigh, hooking his fingers in the knot of his tie. “Alright, fine. You get the damn tie. This is _insane_ , by the way,” he says, as he begins to work it loose, “You know that, right?”

Komaeda just continues to watch him. “Like,” Hinata shakes his head, “Of _course_ you know that, why am I even…”

He slips the knot open, lets the garment slither to the floor over his shoulder. “Happy now?” he asks – it’s phrased almost like a challenge, hands spread like he’s awaiting Komaeda’s judgement.

“I’m happy if Hinata-kun is happy.”

“Jeez,” is Hinata’s almost eerily peaceful response. He takes in a breath. “So I guess it’s my turn then.”

Komaeda blinks. _That_ is certainly a development. “I didn’t think you wanted to play.”

Hinata shrugs. “You can’t have all the… um.” His eyes dart to the side for a second. “Fun.”

“…I suppose not,” Komaeda concedes, offering the weapon to Hinata by the handle. “Forgive my rudeness.”

“Yeah,” Hinata says, “Rudeness is _definitely_ my biggest concern right now.” He considers the gun for a moment. His eyebrows rise as if in scepticism as he turns it over in his hands. “Is this just a thing you have lying around?”

“Is Hinata-kun asking if I procured it specifically for this situation?”

“Well, no,” says Hinata, “But _that’s_ an uncomfortable thought.”

“There is a locked box under my bed,” Komaeda explains, “I keep things of a… _contingent_ nature in there.” He no longer needs to be prepared to arrange for his classmates or himself to die, true, but old habits die hard. Komaeda can’t help but be prepared. Especially with the Future Foundation breathing down all of their necks.

“So _that’s_ what that is,” Hinata muses. He jumps then, like static’s zipping through his body. “I mean! Um! That’s not what I!” Just like that, he’s bright red, one anxious hand clutching at a blanket beneath them.

Komaeda lets him flail around for no more than fifteen seconds. “Am I still so suspicious that you feel the need to inspect my room to feel safe?”

“No,” Hinata splutters, “No, I- I just. Wondered. About. Things.”

He trails off, staring at Komaeda, though Komaeda can tell the eye contact is making him uncomfortable.

“Well,” Komaeda says, keeping his tone light, “I’m flattered by your curiosity, Hinata-kun. Incidentally, were you aware that the last drawer in the cottage dressers has a false bottom?”

Hinata pauses.  His eyes flicker. “ _Um,”_ he says, probably louder than necessary. He swallows. “No. No. I, uh. Was not aware. Of that.”

“Oh, perhaps it’s just mine, then. Something to keep in mind going forward, maybe,” Komaeda says cheerfully.

He really can’t help but lay down the tracks, sometimes. Hinata stares at him, wide-eyed, for a moment longer, then apparently decides that he finds the gun less confronting.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat as he looks down at it, “Yeah. The game.”

When he looks up at Komaeda again, his eyes are purposeful.

“Maybe we can up the stakes a little.” He thumbs the trigger almost absently. “You’re into that, right?”

Komaeda offers him a smile. It’s the opposite of disarming. “What did you have in mind?”

Hinata’s own answering smile is faint, lurking around the corners of his mouth like it’s shy, but it’s there, and as far as Komaeda is concerned, it means he’s won. It means Hinata is interested. It means he’s enjoying himself.

“Hm,” he says pensively.

Komaeda realises his hands are trembling. He folds them together, sets them neatly in his lap, waiting.

“There’s a lot of luck in this room,” Hinata says, voice perfect and level, “Isn’t there?”

This part of Hinata is something Komaeda doesn’t quite know what to do with yet. Sometimes the others say Hinata’s ‘going Kamukura’ when he gets sour and sharp like he’s been since the morning, but Komaeda doesn’t see Kamukura in this Hinata at all. He’d been less than a lab rat to Kamukura –so far beneath him, dust to step on, not even worth his spit. That Hinata is kind enough to have the capacity to _be_ curious about him to begin with is something Komaeda knows he’s unworthy of, but that doesn’t make it any less of a gift.

“Do you ever wonder about how my luck and your luck interact?” The only thing that gives Komaeda pause, that makes him question how _much_ Kamukura lurks behind Hinata’s eyes _,_ is the voice. There’s a dropped pitch, a smooth, almost uncanny intonation that would sound like text-to-speech if Komaeda couldn’t see lips moving around words, breath trickling out, teeth clicking against each other.

“Is there any point, when yours is obviously much stronger?”

He can’t help the way his heart flips in his chest when Hinata reaches forward and presses the muzzle against Komaeda’s forehead. He can’t help the way his lips part around an exhale when Hinata inches forward, staring Komaeda down like he’s maybe thinking about opening him up like a poorly wrapped gift.

“You think so?” Hinata asks him, words slow, voice almost syrupy, “How many bullets are in this chamber?”

Komaeda licks his lips. “Five.”

Hinata breathes out. It could be a laugh – Komaeda has trouble telling. There’s no smile. “Thought so. You don’t really do things in moderation.” He cocks his head. “So,” he says, “Hypothetically. Do you think you’d get the empty round?”

“With your luck stacked against everything else?” Komaeda says. “It would only depend on what you wanted to happen.”

“What about you?” The muzzle moves, trailing down from Komaeda’s forehead to his temple.

Komaeda takes in a shaky breath. “Probability would bow to you if you wanted it to, Hinata-kun,” he breathes out, “Do you think I can stand up to that?”

Hinata doesn’t respond for a moment – he just stares down at Komaeda, chewing the inside of his lip, brows creased in thought.

“See,” he says, “You say that. But I lost to a class handbook last time I had you like this.”

Komaeda’s breath catches. It’s a rare thing for Hinata to reference Kamukura in such a direct way – he tends to wind artfully around the specifics, lets Kamukura be the alligator in the reeds. Sometimes Komaeda wonders if that’s what it’s like for Hinata – if some things are as hard to remember as others are to forget, if he only mentions things as he remembers, how much he doesn’t mention at all.

“Is that what Ultimate Luck is?” Hinata continues, voice flat. “Because I’ll be honest, I’m not exactly impressed.”

“If you remember,” Komaeda says, “The last time _I_ tried to let Luck take care of you, it wasn’t exactly my most successful venture. I’ve always said my talent is garbage, Hinata-kun. I can’t even imagine how mediocre it must feel for you.”

Hinata cocks his head. “Yeah,” he says, “Sure. The traitor died, and the rest of us walked. So I guess you did fuck up. Only…” He glances down at the gun for a minute, eyes clouding. They’re sharper when he looks back up,. “Only she was dead all along, and things ended up like this, didn’t they?”

“I’m not sure what you-”

“Did you lose,” Hinata interrupts, “Or did you win?”

Komaeda isn’t sure what to say to that. He’d always thought of his miserable death as despair making an example of him, of hope burning him as its final sacrifice for the others, so they could shine brighter because of the torn-up corpse he’d left behind.

Hinata stares him down. “You said something earlier about testing the limits. Maybe we should.”

Komaeda thinks he knows what he’s getting at. Kamukura had just _done_ it, Komaeda thinks. Kamukura hadn’t even _thought_ about it, much less _talked_ about it. It’s another thing that sets the two of them apart, that Hinata even thinks Komaeda’s capable of understanding what goes on in his head.

“You’d like that, right?” Hinata asks him, voice softening, “My luck, your luck. Which one shines brighter. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”

“Does Hinata-kun want me to die after all?” Komaeda asks him. His heart is pounding against his chest. He mulls it over - helping Hinata realise his status as Ultimate Hope once and for all. It would be a beautiful death. It would be more than he’s ever deserved. He’s died a useless death once. He thinks he would be happy, if it could mean something next time.

Komaeda listens to the cylinder spin against his temple. Listens to the chamber click into place. Thinks about how there had been a choice he’s made at some point in his life, several, probably, that had lead him to this moment, in front of Hinata with a gun at his temple, air so heavy it feels like he’s breathing steam, his life hanging from silver threads of will and probability and forces far more immense than Komaeda could ever really comprehend or articulate.

He’s always been a servant.

“Do you remember what it was like,” Hinata asks, “Dying?” His eyes are bright with interest, but it isn’t cold – it’s warm and soft, almost, like it could creep from his eyes and seep right under Komaeda’s skin.

Komaeda runs his tongue against his lower lip. “Yes,” he says. He dreams of it, sometimes, the taste of blood in his mouth, heavy air, like chewing on a thick grey blanket, and then, after the grey: nothing.

His eyes feel sharp enough to cut Komaeda’s skin. “Will you tell me about it sometime?”

Komaeda breathes out a laugh. “Forthcoming events permitting,” he says, “You still haven’t answered my question, Hinata-kun.”

“Maybe it’s not that I want you to die,” Hinata says, and Komaeda has to swallow, because he almost, _almost_ sounds like _him_. “Maybe your questions isn’t even relevant.”

He moves the gun, muzzle cool as it trails down Komaeda’s cheek, making Komaeda shiver all the way down every notch of his spine. He presses down, digging the muzzle into Komaeda’s mouth, almost cruel as it rubs against Komaeda’s teeth through flesh.

“Maybe it’s that I want you to know that you don’t get to make that choice,” Hinata whispers.

Cold steel brushes up against Komaeda’s lips, fleeting at first, then harder, more insistent. Komaeda’s eyes go  half-lidded, lashes fluttering, as he presses a kiss to the tip. He can feel himself shaking, fingers curled into the blanket beneath him. He has the fleeting, wild thought that he could probably tear straight through it, if he pulled any harder.

“Maybe if _you_ can’t make it mean something,” Hinata continues, voice low and soft and swift, “Then it should be somebody else’s responsibility.”

Komaeda _quivers,_ a string suspended between two points that’s been plucked at with cruel fingers. He swallows, damp lips dragging against the gun muzzle.

“Would you like that?” Hinata asks him, “Me taking responsibility for you?” He pets his free hand through Komaeda’s hair.

The whine bubbles up in his throat before he’s even registered it. Hinata raises his eyebrows. “That sounded like a yes,” he says, and Komaeda whines again.

“Hinata-kun-”

“Put it in your mouth,” Hinata says, his tone coaxing, “Play nice for me.” Komaeda obeys, parting his lips, tongue flicking against the underside as Hinata pushes forward. It’s heavy and cold against his tongue. “There you go,” Hinata murmurs. He pushes the gun deeper, forcing Komaeda’s lips to part wider as it slips closer and closer to the back of this throat. Komaeda’s just barely even aware of how wet he is in his jeans – all he can focus on is the cold steel in his mouth and Hinata’s warm eyes,  glimmering with something he’s too dizzy to comprehend.

It could be mercy, Komaeda thinks, head spinning.

“Maybe you should stop pretending you’ve ever been in control,” Hinata says, “Maybe you just need to let go.”

Everything is quiet now. The sun might’ve blinked out, beyond the window, and Komaeda wouldn’t even have the presence of mind to notice. This is his entire, fragile world: a gun between his lips and a hand in his hair, two mismatched eyes looking down at him.

“Or maybe you can put all that determination to blow your brains out to better use,” Hinata says, his voice low, “Like blowing something else.”

It is at this critical juncture that Komaeda has to channel all energy currently available to him into not physically bursting into laughter – not because there happens to be a live firearm in his mouth, of course, but because Hinata-

Hinata lets out a reedy, distressed-sounding croak. “Oh,” he says, his voice turning strangled as he goes paler than death in what looks distinctly like abject horror, “My _god.”_

He slips the gun from between Komaeda’s lips, and the delicate thread of saliva that trails behind it goes tragically unrecognised as Hinata swings around, clapping one hand over his eyes as the hand with the revolver dangles at his side. “Oh my god. I just said that. That thought just actually, for _real_ entered my head, and then I opened my mouth, and said it. Out loud. To you. Oh my god.”

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda drawls, in a way that’s hopefully very placating and alluring, reaching out to grab Hinata’s wrist, only to have it jerked away from him when his fingers make contact, “Please don’t be that way, I think it’s a _wonderful_ idea-”

“Why do you even let me talk?” Hinata groans, “Serious question.”

“Even if I’m obviously the one who deserves to be silenced, if Hinata-kun wants me to gag him then I’ll happily do it,” Komaeda says. An unexpected development, but not the first today, one that Komaeda is perfectly content with.

“Yeah,” Hinata says, peeking up from over his fingertips, “Yeah, actually, that’s a good idea. I’m probably in desperate need of being shut up.” He leans over and sets the gun down on the floor, looking Komaeda directly in the eye like he’s just _daring_ him to reach for it. Komaeda’s not entirely stupid - he knows a direct order when he sees one.

Komaeda furrows his brow, glancing around the room for inspiration. “Well, there’s your tie-”

“Komaeda.” He sounds tired, but there’s something about it that’s almost fond.

Komaeda glances up. “Yes?”

Hinata sighs. “Just,” he reaches out, tilts Komaeda’s chin up with a hand, “Come here.”

Komaeda’s breath comes weak at the best of times – it leaves him entirely when Hinata tilts his head and leans forward, a brush of dry lips (and Hinata’s lips are _always_ dry, because he bites them like his life depends on it sometimes, when he’s stewing over things, thinking too deeply), Hinata sucking in an inhale when Komaeda licks into his mouth. It’s always like this – Hinata opening so cautious, respectful, until Komaeda does something he can’t help, something unseemly, like grab at the front of his shirt with both hands. Then he’s being dragged into Hinata’s lap, and Hinata forgets to be respectful, and it’s better like that, really, being shoved around until he has him where he wants him.

Komaeda lets out a shivering breath as Hinata’s hand dips low, pressing flat-palmed against his stomach, and then lower, where Komaeda’s jeans are stretched over his cock. “God.” His voice is strangled. “Komaeda,” like he’s surprised Komaeda is hard, like he hasn’t been hard since Hinata had pressed the gun to his forehead.

His chest hitches like it’s been snagged by a hook when Hinata presses harder, fingers curling around Komaeda, rubbing hard enough that the friction is almost dizzying. “You’re.” Hinata presses his lips to Komaeda’s jaw, tongue flicking against bone as he murmurs, “ _So_ much. You’re so _good_.”

He nips at Komaeda’s throat while Komaeda lets out a broken whine, hips jumping forward like they’re magnetised to Hinata’s touch. “Hinata-kun,” he breathes, fingers scratching at Hinata’s wrist, because he needs to warn him, because when Hinata gets in a Mood he usually has plans far greater than just feeling Komaeda up until he shatters his pathetic veneer of self control and makes a mess of his underwear, “If you keep saying things like that- it’ll be enough to -”

Hinata shifts back up, doesn’t press their lips together, not exactly – they breathe together, against each other, Komaeda going tense and breathing out around a quiet, needy noise when Hinata’s hand slows.

“Do you want that?” It ends up muffled at the end, lips catching and dragging against Komaeda’s.

“I want _everything,”_ Komaeda says back, voice low and purr-like in the back of his throat. He tears a throaty noise out of Hinata when he bites at him, teeth cutting against his lower lip. Komaeda knows he’s overstepping the line that keeps him beneath Hinata where he belongs, but it’s hard to keep himself in check when Hinata is so close and so _warm_ like this. He wonders if he’s been too careless when Hinata pulls away, all dark eyes and heat splashed across his cheeks.

“Did I-?”

“Komaeda,” Hinata interrupts, stroking a hand through Komaeda’s hair, “You ever consider the possibility that you haven’t done anything wrong?”

This is a challenging prospect. Komaeda pauses, considering his next words as he sits there, letting Hinata wind a strand of hair around his finger.

“I bit you,” he points out.

Hinata’s face darkens even further, teeth catching at his lower lip like he’s nervous. Komaeda finds it very difficult to maintain a polite amount of eye contact as a result, but that isn’t exactly unusual in these situations. Even then, Hinata doesn’t seem to mind about eye contact, unlike everybody else who’s told him it makes him seem suspicious when he doesn’t force himself to make it.

(As though they wouldn’t find him suspicious anyway.)

“Yeah. So. Here’s the thing. I’m pathetic.” Hinata swallows. “ _Really_ pathetic.”

Komaeda presses a hand over his chest, utterly astounded at this absolute, baldfaced, manifest lie. “ _Hinata-kun-”_

“I know what you’re going to say,” Hinata groans, raking a hand through his hair, “So just. Don’t.” He takes a breath. Looks up at the towering ceiling like he’s asking it for answers. Lets out a sigh. “It’s… good when you’re bitey.” He sounds almost guilty, Komaeda observes. Hinata gets like that sometimes, when he thinks he’s asking too much of Komaeda, as if he ever could.

“Oh,” Komaeda says, lifting his eyebrows, “You really should’ve said so.”

“Well,” Hinata says, haltingly, “I said it. So.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Then Hinata _jumps_ him, shoving him down so he lays fully on  the blankets, drawing a needy little noise from Komaeda’s throat as their lips meet, teeth clicking together hard enough to hurt. Komaeda does as he’s told, tilting his head so he can nip sharply against Hinata’s lower lip. He’s encouraged by the gasp Hinata lets out, biting harder, again, _harder,_ and Hinata _grabs_ at him, yanking him up by the hips so he can push his thigh up between Komaeda’s thighs. Komaeda kicks shame aside in favour of winding up against him with a fleeting, broken noise, pulling Hinata down by the back of his head, quiet snarl, teeth, the taste of metal, wait, fuck, _shit_ -

“ _Ah-!”_ Hinata yelps, jerking back and clapping a hand over his mouth. Komaeda’s up on his elbows in an instant, alarm flitting through his pulse as he licks away the taste of metal.

“Hinata-kun-?”

But Hinata doesn’t even seem to realise Komaeda’s spoken, eyes fixed on the hand drifting from his mouth. Blood seeps from a shallow cut where his lip is driest. There isn’t much of it, just enough to stain the inner part of his lips like he’s been sucking on cherries.

“So I guess bitey works for you too, huh?” is Hinata’s dry assessment of the situation. He reaches out to wipe at Komaeda’s lower lip with a thumb. “I bled on you, sorry, that’s probably gross-”

“As expected,” Komaeda sighs, shoving his hair back from his face in annoyance, “You trust me with a simple request and I drag you down into the gutter.”

Hinata makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “Yeah, you _really_ fucked up all that good clean fun we’ve been having, Komaeda.”

“Hinata-kun shouldn’t be so indifferent about my inability to refrain from savaging him-”

“Maybe being savaged works for me,” Hinata cuts in, “Ever consider that?”

Komaeda has not, in fact, considered this. “Why would you _ever_ trust someone as miserable and incompetent as me to-”

“ _Komaeda_ . It’s okay. Please relax for one fucking second.” Hinata presses open lips to his. “Really. I promise. It’s,” he kisses him again, “ _Okay_ , I’m okay-”

Komaeda winds up too distracted to not take his word for it, clinging onto Hinata’s shirt while the breath is being ripped from him. He’s gentler about it now – still hard enough to make Hinata hiss shakily against his lips, and Hinata repays his careful consideration in not tearing his skin up by pressing up against him and grinding him into the floor. He gets dizzy, catching Hinata’s lips between his teeth and swallowing the little whining noises they make together, spine starting to ache from being pressed into the floor but unable to care because the friction is making his skin prickle, his eyes water. Komaeda breaks away with one last, lingering bite that melts into a suck. “Do you still want my mouth?” he whispers, because Hinata is getting _way_ too worked up like this, trembling against Komaeda, breath coming harsh and heavy - to say nothing of how he’s at the most a few seconds away from unravelling entirely without Hinata even touching him.

Hinata chokes. Komaeda smirks up at him.

“Oh, _please_ don’t do that,” Hinata says, voice weak.

“Do what?”

“Make that face.”

“Ah. It’s repulsive?”

“It kinda makes me feel like I’m gonna come in my pants?” Hinata breathes out, face flushed pink with what looks like humiliation.

Komaeda is speechless.

“ _This_ is exactly why Saionji calls me a basic bitch,” Hinata mutters, rolling his eyes as if at himself.

Komaeda can’t help the flash of irritation that sears through him. “Yes, _well,_ ” he snaps, the situation before them momentarily forgotten, “I believe it was _you_ who said she needs to shut her mouth sometimes.”

Hinata stares at him for a moment. Something odd flickers in his eyes. Then he swoops forward, grabbing Komaeda by the jaw and kissing him open-mouthed. It feels soft, somehow, though Komaeda thinks it really has no business feeling that way, with how urgent it is.

Hinata pulls back after a moment, shakes his head as though he’s trying to clear it. “Um.” The kiss he gives Komaeda is a little hesitant. “Please?”

“…Please what, Hinata-kun?” He _really_ wishes Hinata would punish him in some way for being so self-indulgent, because he clearly can’t be trusted to manage his own behaviour.

“You’re gonna make me say it,” Hinata says, defeat ringing in his voice, “Aren’t you?”

Komaeda tilts his chin up.

“Alright,” Hinata says, “Fine. Whatever.” Komaeda isn’t entirely prepared for Hinata to grab a fistful of his hair and jerk him forward. “You want to suck me off so badly?” he lilts, “Then do it. It’s one of the only things you’re actually good for, right?”

Hinata is far, _far_ too good to a wretch like him, Komaeda thinks. In lieu of an actual verbal response, he lets his lips part, runs his tongue against his lower lip to get it wet, lowers himself onto his belly against the sheets. Their fingers bump against one another as they both scrabble to get Hinata’s pants undone. They’re a looser fit than Komaeda likes to wear, so it’s easy to peel them open, easy to expose Hinata’s clothed cock, straining against the pastel pink and white of his underwear, wet spot damp and darker at the tip.

Komaeda thinks his mouth might be watering – scratch that, he _knows_ it’s watering – so he leans down, exhaling deep and deliberate over the obvious swelling. Hinata lets out a shaky breath from somewhere up above, growing harsher at the end when Komaeda mouths over him, pressing his tongue against the ridge through his underwear. He works him over with his tongue and lips, slow and leisured about it, saliva seeping through the soft fabric, trickling from the corners of his mouth.

“Komaeda…” Hinata says, voice wavering, “Come _on_ …”

Komaeda pulls up a little, enough to rest his head on Hinata’s thigh and look up at him. “Sorry, Hinata-kun,” he says, voice breathy, “I got carried away. I’m so-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hinata cuts in, almost growling, “You’re filthy and disgusting and indecent and awful and worthless and degenerate and slutty and- and whatever. Whatever. Did I forget anything? Do you need me to go on? I can think of more mean things to call you if it’ll help you get in the mood? Probably? If you need it?” His final words sound faintly hysterical.

Komaeda has to take a moment to assess whether or not he’s actually still alive after that little performance. “No,” he says, actually breathless, “No. I mean. Unless you _want_ to.” He is making _such_ a mess in his boxers, he can feel it. He can just picture Hinata-kun’s disgusted expression when he sees.

“You _know_ what I want,” Hinata tells him. Komaeda’s expecting him to grab him by the hair again, because that seems to be his favoured move today, but instead he just catches Komaeda by the chin,  drags a thumb across his lower lip. “You’re really -”

“I’m really?” Silence. Hinata just keeps staring him. Komaeda’s unsure if he’s even heard him. “Hinata-kun?”

“Never mind,” says Hinata, “You’d just fight me on it. Really not in the headspace for that right now. Don’t let me keep you.”

Komaeda holds his breath as he hooks a finger under the elastic of Hinata’s underwear. This part is always good, no matter how many times he does it.

“Only,” Hinata says, and Komaeda glances up at the note of concern in his voice, “Just try not to bite this time, okay?”

Komaeda feels a peculiar sinking in his stomach. “Of course. Just as I anticipated. Hinata-kun is so right to be concerned after my embarrassing lack of self control earlier-”

 _“Komaeda_ .Oh my _god.”_ A despairing hair plants itself in Komaeda’s hair. “It was a _joke._ I _know_ you wouldn’t- you’re too good at-” He lets out a sigh, slapping a hand over his eyes. “You know what. Just pretend I never said anything. I’m not funny. I don’t even know why I try.”

“Hinata-kun is _very_ funny,” Komaeda protests.

“I mean,” Hinata says, squinting from behind his fingers, “My life _is_ one big, sick joke. So.” He sighs. “Please do the thing before I ruin it again.”

“You didn’t-”

Hinata drops his hand, fixes Komaeda in his gaze. “ _Now_ , Komaeda.”

He detects the _tiniest_ hint of triumph in Hinata’s face when he’s quick to tug Hinata’s underwear down, even if Komaeda’s pretty sure Hinata doesn’t want him to see it. Something changes when he nuzzles forward - he exhales, and the tiniest noise creeps out of Hinata’s throat. He presses damp, parted lips to the head, and Hinata goes deathly silent above him, like he isn’t even breathing. Komaeda is close enough to feel his thighs tremble. Eyes half-lidded, Komaeda opens his mouth wider, swirling his tongue through the stickiness leaking from the head. This is another part that’s always good, feeding the ugly, selfish, needy part of himself. He knows he shouldn’t enjoy it this much, knows it’s not supposed to be for him, but he’s never been able to help it, little moans spilling from his lips as he licks Hinata up, gets him breathing again, makes him pant. The fingers grabbing at his hair are the opposite of a deterrent against Komaeda daring to make this about himself and he can’t help grinding against the blankets a bit He shifts up, wipes his mouth before he leverages himself on a hand so he can wrap the fingers of his other around Hinata’s cock. The other boy’s hips twitch up in response, eyes widening, mouth falling open. It’s strange - Komaeda _technically_ has a sense of touch in his metal hand. He knows Hinata’s skin is warm, but he registers the softness better with his other hand, can better feel the way Hinata throbs when he squeezes him. He’s touched himself with the hand Hinata built him so many times he’s lost count - that he feels dirty and awful about it, using this shining example of Hinata’s kindness and light like it’s a cheap tacky sex toy has never been _quite_ enough to deter him, but Komaeda is never surprised when he’s reminded of his own worthlessness.

“That’s-” Hinata sighs, eyes still wide, “ _Really_ nice, ah-”

“It’s not weird?”

“It’s _really_ weird,” Hinata breathes, shaking his head like he’s dazed, “But it… you…” He blinks. “ _You._ Do _you_ do this? Like. To yourself?”

“Yes,” Komaeda says, heat creeping across his cheeks.

“Oh,” Hinata says, strangled, “Okay. That’s.”

“Obscene?” Komaeda supplies. He can’t even bring himself to look at Komaeda, he notices, stare fixated at where Komaeda’s gripping him with the hand.

“Yeah,” says Hinata, “That’s. _Definitely_ pretty obscene.” He clears his throat. “Jeez.”

Komaeda’s about to assure Hinata that’s he’s keenly, _viscerally_ aware of how disgusting it is, and how he understands if Hinata regrets ever building him the hand, and if he wants to take it from him, but Hinata looks up before he can, gaze almost watery.

“Do you, um. Think about me?” He appears to be blushing. “When you… do that?”

Komaeda tilts his head. “Hinata-kun,” he says, unsure if Hinata is joking with him, “Even if it’s attached to me presently, I still see this as your hand.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hinata says, his voice weak. He stares at Komaeda. Breathes out a laugh that is entirely nerves and nothing of humour. Drags his hands down his face like he’s stressed. Stares at Komaeda some more. “Um. So. I _really_ need you to get me off like five minutes ago, otherwise I don’t know…” He seems unable to articulate himself further, gesticulating vaguely, staring at Komaeda with helpless eyes.

Komaeda certainly doesn’t need to be told twice, already sinking down again.

“Um. If you suck it,” Hinata’s voice is a rough cut gem against Komaeda’s ears, “And-” Fingers close over his own metal ones, gentle as they move his own back and forth, tight along the shaft. Komaeda gets the play, settling into the rhythm without really thinking about it. Hinata lets out a quiet, throaty noise, tipping his head back against the blankets. He’s more overcome than usual, Komaeda notices - he usually keeps his eyes open, watches Komaeda do his work, but now his eyes are squeezed shut. Komaeda’s a little disappointed, because Hinata really seems to get off on Komaeda maintaining eye contact while he sucks him off, but at least he can devote his full attention to Hinata’s cock this way. There’s something almost hypnotic about it, settling into the rhythm of sucking and breathing, the jerk of his metal fingers becoming easier and more fluid as he drools all over Hinata’s cock. The only thing Komaeda dislikes is the noises, annoyed with himself that he can’t do anything to dampen the dirty wet sucking sounds.

He chokes when he squeezes tighter and sucks at apparently just the right moment, because Hinata’s hips snap up, forcing the head of his cock to nudge against the back of Komaeda’s throat. His rhythm breaks when he gags, pulling away reflexively, and Hinata rears up, alarm bright in his eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, _sorry-_ ” Hinata gasps - Komaeda feels him reaching down with his other hand, cupping his cheek.

Komaeda just takes a deep breath, slicks his hand down to the base and chases it with his mouth. This time he doesn’t gag, or the next time, and it only takes that much to oversaturate Hinata with stimulation, collapsing onto the sheets as his eyes roll back into his head. As though he needs his hand held through choking on it a little - as though he couldn’t handle it for Hinata’s sake.

He can _feel_ Hinata unravelling like this, shudders tearing through him, fingertips pressing against Komaeda’s scalp. It’s like all the blood in Komaeda’s body flashes bright red for one dizzying moment when Hinata lets out an open-mouthed _whimper,_ and Komaeda can taste him leaking all over his tongue. Lighting cracks down his spine, sparking through every single one of his veins and making his heart stop mid-beat as he trembles, and he rears up, because it’s too much, he’s too close, he’s-

Hinata is apparently far too gone to be interested in giving Komaeda a chance to pull himself together enough to finish his task without making an indecent mess all over himself. He sinks almost-cruel fingers into Komaeda’s hair and _shoves_ him back down, and this time Komaeda squeezes his eyes shut and chokes on it as he comes, drooling a little as he shudders through the sticky mess defiling his jeans, himself. Tears prickle at his eyes as he trembles through the aftershocks, shaking too much to _really_ be of use to anyone, but Hinata has him covered in his indelicate state, forcing Komaeda to keep going. His thoughts are blurry as he reflects on his own uselessness, irritation dampening his euphoria a little as he pities Hinata for having to take matters into his own hands like this.

“ _Komaeda-_ ” It’s that trembling, broken voice that tells Komaeda he’s being warned, and Komaeda thinks that maybe it isn’t so bad - at least Hinata can still use him like this. He settles back with one last lingering lick, saliva string glistening and breaking as he keeps working Hinata’s cock, opening his mouth languidly, still shaking a little. Hinata’s eyes flutter open for just a moment as he takes in one final, desperate hitching breath, arching up off the floor. The head of his cock is slick when it twitches against Komaeda’s lips in the split second before he comes, the smear it leaves erased as he splashes across Komaeda’s face, into his open mouth. Komaeda works him through it, slow and deliberate, taking the rest of Hinata’s waning spasms in his mouth before Hinata snatches at his hand with biting fingernails - a signal to stop.

Komaeda finally feels like he can breathe again, sitting up a little straighter as he lets go of Hinata’s cock. He swallows the mess in his mouth, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand. Hinata groans and knocks his head against the floor.

“You _really_ don’t have to do that.” He’s still panting.

“What _else_ would I do?” Komaeda is a little offended as he wipes at the rest of his face. “Spit it out?” He’s pointless and abject, but he isn’t an _animal._

“God. I don’t. Fucking know. Get here,” is what Komaeda is about seventy percent sure Hinata mumbles, eyes slipping shut, so he goes to him, lets himself be pulled down to the floor.

The strange thrumming in his chest is back. Komaeda still doesn’t know what to make of it, but the opportunity to drift is a convenient time to catch his breath.

“You’re a lot,” Hinata says eventually, eyes still closed.

“...I’m not sure what you mean by that,” Komaeda says, “Are you saying I’m excessive?”

“I always freak out that you’re gonna choke yourself or something.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Hinata opens his eyes. They’re still unfocused. “Don’t even start.”

“If Hinata-kun wanted-”

“Well guess what.” He’s back to sounding annoyed, though it’s more on the side of softly miffed at this point. He knocks his forehead gently against Komaeda’s. “We’re done with what _Hinata-kun_ wants. What do _you_ want?”

“You don’t have to touch me,” Komaeda insists, “I’m more than satisfied.”

“Yeah, not happening.” The eyeroll he gives is a tired looking one, but he does lean in to kiss Komaeda. “You like fingers, right?”

Komaeda’s never said as much, but Hinata is supremely perceptive, of course. He nods, because, well, while Hinata is being so generous.He’s still feeling worn through, but even the thought of Hinata’s fingers inside him is enough to make him half hard again.

“And let me guess,” Hinata says, dryly, “You brought a gun but not lube.”

“Saliva will do,” Komaeda says, breathlessly. In fact, it’s his preference, but Hinata doesn’t strictly need to know that.

“Mmm,” Hinata muses, “I guess it’ll have to.”

Komaeda parts his lips, raw hard anticipation fizzing on his tongue, in his chest, but it seems Hinata has other ideas, edging his teeth against Komaeda’s jawline, breathing down his neck. Hands grab at the hem of his t-shirt with a gentle tug. Komaeda takes the hint, drawing back for a moment to peel the shirt off over his head. Apparently satisfied, Hinata presses his lips to Komaeda’s as he coaxes him backwards into the pillows. A shaky exhale unfurls from Komaeda’s lips as Hinata sinks lower – teeth at his collarbone, nails scraping across his nipple, kisses pressed to sharp ribs. He lingers where the band of Komaeda’s jeans hang on his hips, shifting so he can open his zipper. Komaeda is obedient in raising his hips so that Hinata can peel his jeans down - they struggle a little to get them off completely, Komaeda arching his hips up off the floor as Hinata pulls them down. He guides Komaeda back to the floor with steady hands, like he’s worried he’s going to drop him, shatter him.

Komaeda doesn’t know why he bothers with the ceremony, honestly. Not that he doesn’t _appreciate_ it - it’s just that it’s a waste of time that Hinata surely can’t be getting anything out of.

“Ah,” Hinata says, eyes wide, “Wow. Look at you.”

Komaeda glances down through heavy lashes. Definitely not the disgust he’d been anticipating. “I’m _so_ indecent,” he says, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Yeah, uh. Wait. Damn. Did you… already?” Hinata covers him with a palm, rubs him up a little.

Komaeda shivers at the contact, peering up at him. “Yes.” His breath hitches when Hinata rubs him again, and he moves, writhing up into the touch.

“But,” Hinata says, looking utterly lost, maybe even a little disappointed, “When did you even- you usually. Knock things over. And, uh. There’s usually more… screaming.” He flushes, even as he’s seemingly transfixed by the mess down there. It’s not _shame_ that Komaeda feels, not exactly, because this is just what Hinata does to him, but there’s something about being open and vulnerable like this, soaked in his own stickiness, that makes him feel a _little_ unsure of himself.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, patiently, “If you remember, my mouth was otherwise occupied.” A little shiver bites him at the thought.

“Well,” Hinata says, that look of utter harassment back on his face, “That. Uh. Good. For you.”

“Yes,” Komaeda says, pleasantly, “It was _very_ good.”

Hinata doesn’t seem to have much else to say, staring at Komaeda like he’s presently on fire.

“Of course,” Komaeda says, “If Hinata-kun is too disgusted to continue, given my present state-”

“Nope,” Hinata says, “Definitely not disgusted.” He pauses, stares at Komaeda for a moment longer. Komaeda thinks that he’s very flushed. “...You think you can, um. Go again?”

Hinata is far too gentle with him, sometimes. “Of course.”

Hinata nods. “Right,” he says, determination filling his eyes, “Well.”

There are patterns Komaeda has picked up on, by this point. Hinata likes to pay particular attention to Komaeda’s thighs, seemingly fixated on the scars Genocider Syo had scored into his skin. Trembling hands frame Komaeda’s skinny thighs, and even if he knows enough by now to be prepared for what’s coming, he still gasps when Hinata’s teeth sink into his flesh. His teeth dig in harsher and harder, a wet noise drifting up, curling around Komaeda’s ears as Hinata sucks bruises into his skin. It’s rough enough to hurt – it always is. Komaeda’s never mentioned it. He fears Hinata might stop, if he knew.

He sets shaking fingers in Hinata’s hair, not pushing or pulling, just resting them there, encouragement as Hinata litters his skin with bruises, deliberate like some script he’s memorised. He’s blinking tears away by the time Hinata pulls back with a deep breath, not just because of the pain, but because he knows Hinata _means_ it, whatever _it_ is. There’s something almost dark in his eyes as he looks down at the fresh thigh trauma. Komaeda drops one hand from his hair, tracing his fingertips across teeth-shaped welts. They’re stark against his pale skin, against old, fading bruises. They still have texture this fresh, red and a little swollen – Komaeda likes them better when they flourish out into blue and purple, but it’s also good like this, when they still sting a little, when he can still feel the gouges Hinata’s teeth left behind.

“Was that okay?” Hinata’s fingers slip up to rest beside his own, tangled loose together over bite marks.

“Yes,” Komaeda says, voice cracking a little, “Thank you.” He always feels compelled to thank Hinata.

Hinata just shakes his head, looking a little dazed. He glances up. “Jeez,” he says, voice a little rough, “You’re still…” He plants a hand against the front of Komaeda’s boxes. Komaeda can’t help but cringe a little, because _now_ it’s starting to hurt. Hinata notices, clearly, brow furrowing, but doesn’t say anything, just finally, _finally_ peels Komaeda’s boxers down his hips. Komaeda lets out a tiny sob when his cock is free, the cool air of the room almost overloading his senses for how sticky and swollen and _hot_ he feels.

Hinata looks down at him with wide eyes for a moment. “Yeah,” he mutters, “ _Definitely_ basic.”

Komaeda whimpers when he dips forward and licks a stripe up his cock, cleaning it. “ _Hinata-kun,”_ he gasps, fingers clutching at Hinata’s shoulders, “If you touch it too much, I… I’m too easy, right now.” His thoughts are starting to blur again, overwhelmed as he is, still not entirely recovered from before.

“Oh,” Hinata says, numbly, “Sure. Right. Um, can you-?” He reaches out to rest his fingertips against Komaeda’s lips.

 _Can_ he. Komaeda parts his lips, lets Hinata’s fingers curl into his mouth. His eyelashes flutter as he gives himself over to it, sucking and lapping at Hinata’s middle and ring finger, less focused on getting them well slicked than just riding the feeling of Hinata playing with his mouth. He honestly couldn’t care less if Hinata fingered him with the very barest preparation, but Hinata seems to be unable to look away as he gets his fingers wet, and who’s Komaeda to deny him that?

“You’re, uh,” Hinata swallows, “ _Really_ about that oral fixation, huh?” He looks to be sweating faintly, though Komaeda’s eyes could just be blurry.

“I just want Hinata-kun inside me,” is Komaeda’s plaintive response, speaking with Hinata’s fingers still against his lips.

“Well,” Hinata says, resolutely, “Get ready, because I’m going in.” He pauses. His expression doesn’t even change, though his voice is completely dead and devoid of any colour or emotion. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, “Please.”

“Yeah,” Hinata says, “Let’s _absolutely_ ignore that I just said that. Good plan.”

He sticks to his proposal, seemingly in a rush to reach in between Komaeda’s thighs, quick enough to startle Komaeda with a warm slick touch against him. He keeps his eyes trained on Komaeda’s face, teeth catching almost nervously at his lower lip as he circles Komaeda with a fingertip. Komaeda can’t stand it. He arches his back, trying to grind down against Hinata, and he lets out a high, sharp noise when Hinata caves and slips one finger into him, because fucking _finally_ . Hinata always looks so _surprised_ when Komaeda goes to pieces so quickly, like they aren’t both fully aware of how easy Komaeda is.

“Can you-?”

“Hinata-kun,” he says, very, very patiently, “If breaking me is what you’re concerned about, then let me assure you that it’s my preference.”

A beat of silence. Komaeda watches Hinata stab the inside of his cheek with his tongue like he’s biting down on saying something.

“Turn over, then,” Hinata says, voice scratchy, “I want to get deep.”

Komaeda privately reflects on the fact that if he does die today it probably won’t be because of a bullet– not when Hinata insists on behaving like this. He’s eager to comply with Hinata’s order, rolling over to lie prone on his belly. He lets Hinata move him around until he has him where he wants him, holds his breath, waiting.

And waiting.

“Hinata-kun?” Was he suddenly in the mood for denial games? Komaeda might cry - but then he thinks that would probably be the entire _point-_

“Uh!” Nervous. Guilty? Komaeda can’t tell without seeing his face. “Sorry, sorry, let me-”

A hand petting down his spine, and Komaeda tenses, tenses even more when he feels fingers digging into his thighs, his ass, a slick nudge, and he sighs, eyelashes fluttering with every press of Hinata’s fingers.

He feels a twist and a wet press down there, and then there’s a jolt through his entire body, and he’s moaning so loud he thinks there’s a good chance it carries over to the next damn island, shoving his face into the pillow because there’s nowhere else for him to go, because it’s so much that his body is clawing to get away from it as much as it scrambles for it.

“Oh god,” he hears Hinata say, shakily, “Um. Haha. Okay. Hi there.”

Another flicker - Komaeda lets out another keening, desperate noise, raking at the blankets with one hand. There’s no real rhythm - Hinata keeps him guessing, chasing it, frustrated, clawing at fabric with blunt fingernails. He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to be concerned that he’s lost any last vestiges of composure.

“ _Hinata-kun.”_ He doesn’t mean it to be a plea. Or maybe he does.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to…”

Komaeda doesn’t get to discover exactly what it is Hinata is trying to do, because he seems to deem now an appropriate time to find the rhythm he’d apparently been seeking.

“You’re so squeaky,” Hinata breathes, and Komaeda’s too preoccupied with the way Hinata’s currently ripping him apart to even bother caring that he’s been described with the same terminology as one would a cute rubber duck. He just lets out a moan in response, pressing his face against the pillow as he writhes back against Hinata’s fingers.

“Hey, Komaeda,” says Hinata, “I changed my mind. I want to look at you.”

Komaeda shivers, both at the loss of touch and at the thought of being torn into ribbons where Hinata can see him, every single wretched expression he makes, every filthy noise he lets out. Hinata’s hands circle his hips, helping him roll over.

The first thing Komaeda notices when his world rights itself is that Hinata is hard again, the edge of his now dishevelled shirt skimming the flushed head of his cock.

Komaeda thanks his fucking luck.

“Fuck me,” Komaeda breathes, sure he’s making _such_ an indelicate expression right now. He realises too late he’s said it like a demand and not a supplication.

Hinata hesitates. “...If you didn’t bring lube, I’m gonna assume you didn’t bring a condom.”

Komaeda lets out a tenuous, desperate laugh, tipping his head back against the pillow and covering his face, because of _course._ Of fucking _course._

“You’re gonna have to explain the joke to me, Komaeda,” comes Hinata’s weary voice.

Komaeda laughs again, raising his hands from his face as he brings his arms up to rest above his head. “The mere _thought,_ ” he gasps, “That you would even _consider_ doing something like that to an animated pile of dregs like me without protection-”

Hinata is almost eerily calm about raising his hands and closing them about Komaeda’s throat.

Oh, Komaeda thinks - he has his confirmation it’s _definitely_ the being denied breath thing that’s exhilarating. He claws a weak, reedy little breath into his throat, heart thumping in his chest as he gazes up at Hinata. He isn’t _angry,_ Komaeda thinks,  nor does he really look _annoyed._ Tired, maybe, almost, except his eyes are fierce.

“New game,” Hinata says, his voice steady, too steady, like it’s trying to keep its balance, keep from tipping over and shattering, “Since you like them so much. Not optional, in case you wondered. You’re not allowed to talk shit on yourself for the rest of the time we’re in here. Do you understand me, Komaeda?”

“But Hinata-kun-”

“No.” Hinata squeezes again. Komaeda’s breath wheezes before it’s cut off entirely. “There’s only one correct answer, Komaeda. If I have to keep choking you to get you to give it to me, I will.”

This time Hinata squeezes down on him for so long black spots sweep his vision. He has to gasp for air when he’s released, lungs burning.

“Do you understand me, Komaeda?” is Hinata’s patient question. His hands still rest around Komaeda’s throat.

Komaeda licks his lips. “Yes.” His voice has a soft rasp to it.

“Like,” Hinata says, voice rough with frustration, raking a hand through his hair, “I don’t even know why I’m bothering to tell you this, because I _know_ it’s just going to go in one ear and out the other, but. I don’t know. I’m saying it for my own sake. Whatever. I didn’t freak because I think you’re disgusting, I freaked because we’ve only done it that one time and I don’t know if you…” He makes a frustrated noise. “ _Like_ being finished inside of.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Yeah, why _would_ I want you to feel good when I’m having sex with you?” Hinata snaps, “What a fucking mystery.”

Komaeda’s brow creases with honest confusion. “Hinata-kun,” he says, “At what point did I give you the impression that I’m not enjoying the things you’re doing to me?”

Hinata goes silent. He bites at his cracked lower lip, something fraught and tense hovering in his eyes. For a moment, he almost looks like he’s about to say something, but whatever it is, he must think better of it, because he leans down instead, cupping Komaeda’s face with both hands and pressing  their lips together. Komaeda winds cautious arms around the back of Hinata’s neck, lets it become something slow and wet that makes him feel like he’s sinking into the floor.

 _Too_ wet. The realisation snaps through across him like a slap.

“Hinata-kun?” he says, heart skipping a beat with worry, “Are you-?”

“What?” He sucks at Komaeda’s lower lip, but something’s wrong - _acutely_ wrong, Komaeda knows.

He plants a hand on Hinata’s chest, pushing him away gently. “You _are_ crying,” he says, horror prickling low in his chest.

Hinata blinks, bringing a hand up to his eyes. He’s clearly not expecting them to come away wet - he almost flinches away from the sight, eyes going round. “What the _fuck_.”

“I’ve hurt you?” It _has_ to be a question, because the statement, the acknowledgment of that truth, isn’t something he can bear thinking about. It’s one thing to be inferior, to be an inconvenience. It’s another to cause harm to Hinata - _especially_ to Hinata, who has always treated Komaeda with such absurd, undeserved kindness.

“No,” Hinata says, absently, then stronger, more definite, “ _No._ You didn’t, it’s just… I don’t know. It’s stupid.” He frowns, then, sudden,  he takes in a deep breath like he’s just had a sudden realisation., like he’s readying himself for something, some great trial. “No. It’s _not_ stupid.” He wipes at his eyes, then stares down at his hands with something like contempt. “Sometimes I think you don’t actually want to do this. Or that you even _like_ doing this. And that the only reason you do it is because it’s me. And that makes me feel.” He swallows - Komaeda watches his throat bob with something like dread. “I don’t know what it makes me feel. But I know it isn’t good.”

Komaeda’s about to respond, but the rules Hinata had set in place earlier come rushing back to him, and he pauses, re-evaluating his approach. “...Hinata-kun must be joking,” he ventures.

“I’m not,” Hinata says, and now he’s moving away from Komaeda , glancing off to the side like he can’t bring himself to look at him, “You could’ve killed yourself today. Because I woke up in a bad mood. Because I was _bored._ ”

 _That’s inconsequential,_ Komaeda’s about to say, but he doesn’t know if it falls on the wrong side of the rules, and he doesn’t think this is an appropriate moment to clarify them with Hinata. He knows he’s silent for far too long, trying to snake around the words that come to him instinctively. “...I wanted to help you,” he says finally, unsure and knowing he sounds timid because of it, “I felt... useless.”

“You _were_ helping,” Hinata says, “I mean. You _are_. Kind of.”

Komaeda almost scoffs. “You don’t have to lie to me to protect my feelings, Hinata-kun.”

“That’s the thing,” Hinata says, “I’m not. No one else puts up with me when I get like that. Don’t you get that? You just… being there…” The sound he lets out borders on a growl, and he rubs both his eyes for a moment. “I’m really, really bad at this. And I’m probably really bad for you.”

Komaeda opens his mouth to protest, to decry the idea that Hinata could _ever_ be the one to be a detriment between the two of them-

But he can’t. He _can’t,_ and the realisation that it’s a choice between him actively defying Hinata or being like this, sitting here with a peculiar pressure in his chest and an increasingly dry mouth, makes him feel _trapped._

Hinata sighs. He looks almost _distraught,_ Komaeda notices with a sinking heart. “What I think,” he says, “Is that it hurts you to be with me.”

“No,” Komaeda says, sharp and immediate, wavering a little, “That’s _wrong_.”

“But from where I’m sitting,” Hinata says, shaking his head, brows knitting together, “You can’t even... _be_ around me without it being like this. You say all these horrible things about yourself, and the only reason you’re not doing it right now is because I’m pretty sure I could tell you to do _anything_ and you’d do it.”

“...Yes,” Komaeda says, carefully, “I... would sacrifice anything for you.”

He hates that Hinata’s eyes grow sad. Hates that he’s the direct cause of it. “That doesn’t make me feel good, Komaeda. It’s… kind of scary, actually.”

“...That.” He thinks about it. “Scaring Hinata-kun. Upsets me.”

“Oh, hey,” Hinata says, cracking a tired smile, “Look at that. We’re on the same page.”

Komaeda feels no urge to smile. He’s never felt _less_ like smiling. “It’s because you- what you are- means more to me than my-” _worthless, fucking_ **_worthless_ ** _,_ “Life.”

He flinches when Hinata sucks in a breath through his teeth, covering his hands with his face as his shoulders drop. Komaeda scratches at his thighs with tense fingers while he watches him, gnawing at his lower lip because he just can’t contain it all, the horror that Hinata is upset like this because of him, that he’s the direct cause of the pain shining on his face. When Hinata drops his hands he looks hollow, exhausted - like someone’s scooped out his insides with a spoon.

“Komaeda,” he says, “They made me in a fucking lab. You understand that, right? I…” He barks out a harsh, _bitter_ laugh that warps his face into something foreign and unsettling, twisting with active contempt. “I was just some shitty fucking Reserve Course student until I signed a fucking waiver that gave Hope’s Peak free range to fuck around in my head, and when I woke up I….” He breaks off when his voice cracks. A smile, false and sharp, winds itself across his face. “Well. _You_ know how that one played out.”

“You wanted to be more than you were,” Komaeda surmises.

“Yeah,” Hinata says, wearily, “That’s about it.”

“But I _understand_ that, Hinata-kun!” He can’t _take_ it anymore. Hinata blinks his eyes wide when Komaeda seizes his hands. “I understand! Feeling worthless and _wishing_ you could be more! The only difference is that you’re not worthless!” His voice sinks to a shivering whisper, because it’s starting to take him, hope unfurling and coursing bright and almost painful in his veins. “You’re _wondrous._ The world is being suffocated by despair, but you’re here, you _exist,_ and you shine brighter than _anything.”_

“What I have is whole lot of artificial talent and a whole lot of nightmares,” Hinata says, voice flat, “And for all you talk about worthlessness, at least you have something _real_ .” Komaeda feels the urge to _scream_ bubble up in his throat when Hinata squeezes his hands.  “For all you know,” his lashes glistening with fresh tears when he blinks, “I’m fucking, I don’t know, _mass produced_ . _I_ don’t know what else they were doing. There could be more _Ultimate Hopes_ out there.”

“Not like _you_ .” He wants to let the scream _out._ This isn’t right - the feeling in his veins is darkening. He thinks he can taste his blood curdling, metallic and bitter at the back of his throat.

This isn’t hope. This isn’t hope at _all._ He knows what this is.

He can see Hinata’s hesitation flickering in his eyes. “You know, I remember,” he croaks, “When I shot you. I remember all of it, I think - some parts are blurrier than others, but I remember that. You know what I remember most?”That awful, insincere smile is back. “I felt nothing,” he says, voice soft and quiet, “No anger, no triumph, _nothing._ You were nothing to me. Less than zero. I didn’t even want really you dead. I didn’t care if you lived or died.”

 _Of course you wouldn’t care!_ Komaeda wants to yell, _How could you possibly? How could you_ **_ever_ ** _be invested in something like me?_

“Does that even upset you?” Hinata asks him, “Or is that just. The way you think it’s _supposed_ to be?”

Someone’s breathing quickly, almost hyperventilating. Komaeda realises it’s him.

“You can say yes,” Hinata says, “It’s okay.”

“Yes,” Komaeda says, every sound a struggle, “That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Okay,” says Hinata, “So what happens when you’re _not_ nothing to me?”

The whimper tears itself out of Komaeda’s throat, naked and shivering.

Hinata winces, eyes flicking up at the ceiling like it pains him to look at Komaeda. He takes a breath when he looks down again, like he’s apprehensive, maybe. “When I said I’d care if… if something happened to you,” he says, “I meant it.”

“...Then,” he says. He swallows, because it hurts to talk, his mouth is so dry, his chest so tight. “But that’s. That’s just. Hinata-kun’s benevolence. As expected. You value everyone, regardless of worth. It makes sense that you would regard me as more than nothing.”

“You’re still shrugging it off. You don’t get it,” Hinata says, “Do you? You _really_ don’t get it. Or you won’t let yourself.”

“You said I have something real,” Komaeda whispers, and he’s not crying - he just can’t fucking _breathe,_ “I was born with luck. So what? What does it matter? What do _I_ matter? The only thing that matters is that it lead me to _you._ ”

“There it is _again_ ,” Hinata says. He slaps a frustrated hand against the floor. “I can’t _hear_ those things, and keep doing this. I can’t even trust you to to be honest with me. Do you know what that feels like?”

“Of course you don’t trust me! _No one_ trusts me!” His voice is rising, in pitch, in volume, and he doesn’t quite care to stop it. “Who would, after everything I’ve done?”

“That’s not what I _mean!”_ Hinata snaps, “I don’t… I don’t want to be a way for you to hurt yourself, Komaeda.”

“ _That’s not the way it is,”_ Komaeda moans, clutching at his hair with his hands, “ _How can you even_ **_say_ ** _that?”_

“Komaeda, _stop.”_ Urgent hands, grabbing his wrists. Komaeda tries to twist out of his grasp. “ _Stop it._ You’re despairing, you need to- _”_

“You don’t _understand!”_ Komaeda cries, hands sliding down, clawing at Hinata’s forearms,  “It’s supposed to be easy! It’s _always_ been easy! I’ve always been empty, I’ve always been _nothing,_ but I’ve always had a _purpose!_ I’ve never wavered, not even once! As worthless as I am, I’ve been a perfect servant! And then _you…”_

Hinata’s eyes are wide, starry, with amazement, with lingering tears, Komaeda doesn’t know.

“I’ve only ever faltered once,” Komaeda says, every breath a hitch in his chest, “Just once. Before I killed myself. Because I knew that…”

_... I would’ve as good as killed you._

Hinata’s eyes flicker. “But you still went through with it.” he says quietly.

“It didn’t matter.” Komaeda doesn’t know what this feeling is. Shame, maybe. “It doesn’t matter. I faltered. My one single redeeming feature, and you…” His voice cracks, “You _broke_ me. And you don’t even know you did it.”

“I broke you,” Hinata repeats, his voice eerily quiet. “Right. So. Where does that stop? Have I been breaking you this whole time?”

“It’s not _like_ that,” Komaeda protests.

“Then enlighten me,” Hinata almost snaps, “Because that’s a _pretty_ strong word to use, Komaeda. Give me a _real_ answer for once.”

Whatever panicked fire had been lingering in him, it’s gone now. He feels like he’s fading. He knows this feeling, too. The despair is quieter now, softer, trickling down from its crescendo and leaking out of him like there’s a puncture in his chest, only it feels like it’s taking the rest of him with it, like it always does. Hinata’s eyes are intense enough to burn, and beneath them, he feels like he’s been vivisected, the skin of his chest pinned back, leaving every dark corner, every dribble of black blood exposed under bright eyes.

“You make me feel selfish things. You make me feel weak. You make me _want…_ ” He doesn’t know what - just that it’s _want,_ doesn’t even know if it’s anything more than that.

It feels like Hinata looks at him for a very long time.

“Okay,” he says, finally, then softer, quieter, “Okay. I think I get it.”

A mirthless laugh bubbles out of Komaeda’s throat. It’s cut short when Hinata throws his arms around his chest, pulling him close. Komaeda freezes, heart stuttering in his chest. He feels light-headed, all of a sudden, skin-on-skin with Hinata like this. He’s never been touched like this. Ever. The last time he’d been touched in a way even close to this was _her_ , but that had been different. He doesn’t feel like a pet being cradled, placated, coaxed into some sedated nightmare. Hinata’s leaning into him like he can’t keep upright without Komaeda to steady him, which is an absurd thought, because Komaeda feels like he’s about to dissolve into nothing, just dust fragments dancing in the light. He comes back to himself a little when Hinata buries his face against his shoulder, thinking that he’s probably supposed to respond. This kind of touch is as confusing as the rest of it is, though, and he hovers, tense, for a moment, thumbing through the index cards labelled EMBRACING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING in his mind, and finally decides to loop tentative arms around Hinata’s waist. That earns him a small sound, vibrating somewhere in Hinata’s chest - Komaeda can’t place the emotion behind it, not when he’s so agitated, when his brain is buzzing so loud.

It really isn’t so bad, Komaeda thinks, after a while. He wonders if Hinata can feel how quickly his heart is beating. He can feel Hinata’s, ends up zeroing in on it after a moment, letting the beat lull him. He feels numb to his skin when Hinata pulls back enough to look at him, trailing body heat as he goes. Hinata touches him, presses warm hands to Komaeda’s cheeks like he’s trying to make sure he’s real, tangible.

“...Your eyes are clear,” he says, voice croaky. Komaeda isn’t sure what the observation means, or why it seemingly relieves Hinata so much.

He watches Hinata puff out a breath, shoulders rising tall, falling hard.

“You want this,” he says, “For you.” It isn’t a question, and it isn’t an order. “For… for selfish reasons.”

“...Yes.” He’s humiliated himself enough today. What’s a little more shame?

He still has the energy to be surprised when Hinata laughs - a genuine one this time, though it’s small and tired. He watches, nonplussed as Hinata’s shoulders loose a tenseness he wasn’t even aware of, and he presses the back of his hand to his forehead, clearly in a state of disbelief himself. “Holy shit.”

“...My selfishness makes you happy?” He’s puzzled.

“You have _no_ idea,” Hinata mutters. He glances up, then. “That… wasn’t easy for you. Was it?”

Komaeda gives him a blank smile. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Well.” A blush creeps across his cheeks. Komaeda officially gives up on comprehending a single thing further today. At the very least, Hinata isn’t crying anymore. “While we’re, uh. Admitting things. I _also_ want this. And you. For selfish reasons. Such as.” He clears his throat. “Making you feel good.”

Komaeda doubles down on giving up. Clearly Hinata has entered a plane of reasoning he is incapable of understanding. “You _do_ make me feel good,” he says.

“I do?” His eyes widen.

Komaeda considers the possibility that he might actually still be bleeding out in the poison-filled warehouse, and this all some bizarre, deeply confusing throes-of-death hallucination. “Yes? Your existence single-handedly redeems this wretched world?”

“No, I mean like.” He shakes his head. “ _You_ specifically.”

He’s beginning to get a headache from being so continuously nonplussed. “I _am_ referring to myself.”

He’s darting his eyes again. “No, but, you know. On a… micro level. The here and now type of thing. _Physical_ things. You know?”

“...I am, of course, enthralled by your presence and attention.” These are all very obvious things, in Komaeda’s opinion. It surprises him that Hinata is seeking clarification. Perhaps he isn't being obvious enough.

Hinata looks truly distressed. “Yeah, uh,” he says, “I’m. Kinda talking about making you feel good in personal and meaningful ways such as. Orgasms?” His flush now distinctly resembles a bad sunburn.

“Oh,” Komaeda says, conversationally, even as his heart does a little flip in his chest. “That is… a selfish want for you?” He doesn’t quite understand it - clearly Hinata deigning to touch him in such filthy ways is a service, not self-indulgence.

“Yeah, it’s kinda like finally beating a really hard boss in a video game after like a million tries.” He immediately slaps both hands over his face. “I mean! No! That’s not what I-!”

Komaeda waits patiently for him to recover from this latest bout of distress. Only now does he recall that he’s naked. Today has been truly bizarre, even for his standards.

“Here’s a suggestion!” Hinata says, slightly maniacal, when he can apparently bring himself to make eye contact with Komaeda again, “You pick up that gun and straight up kill me!”

“But Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, “Then how will you indulge those selfish desires you spoke of?”

Hinata pauses. “...Can you not make fun of me?” It’s a little sour.

“I’m not,” Komaeda says, “If Hinata-kun wants to play this game-”

“Okay, what I _meant_ ,” Hinata interrupts, increasingly sour, “Is that getting you off is _rewarding_ . Not that it’s _literally_ like a video game.”

“‘Rewarding’,” Komaeda repeats, raising his eyebrows.

“Satisfying,” Hinata continues, visibly agitated, “Fulfilling. Arousing?”

“‘Arousing’.”

“We should probably make out before I say something I’ll _really_ regret,” Hinata says. He looks like he’s on the verge of letting out an ear-splitting whistle, like he’s a particularly uncomfortable kettle.

“By all means, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, “Go in.”

Hinata replies by tackling him and knocking him to the floor. Komaeda is so startled that he forgets to even respond for a moment, but then Hinata is pressing harsh, open-mouth kisses against his lips, and Komaeda tugs at his shirt with desperate hands, pulling him closer.

“What, _now_ you’re trying to be funny?” Hinata grinds out between kisses. Komaeda can _feel_ how annoyed he is between lips and teeth.

“It was- mm- an _invitation,_ Hinata-kun,” Komaeda gasps back.

“Oh?” He flicks his tongue against Komaeda’s lower lip. “Really? Is _that_ all?”

Komaeda makes a snap decision, reaching down for Hinata’s wrist, guiding his hand in between his thighs.

While they’re being selfish, and all.

“Do I need to make it clearer for you?” he lilts.

“No,” Hinata says, “I think I’ve got it.”

He’s far back enough that he can look Komaeda in the eye when he pushes inside him with two fingers, the going easy with Komaeda still being wet from earlier. Komaeda whimpers, breath catching in his throat, and he must be wearing some truly indecent expression, because Hinata bites his lip, stares down at him like he can’t bear to blink. He doesn’t seem interested in messing around this time, watching Komaeda until his fingers drag over where he’s aching for them. Hinata had been so _hesitant,_ the first time he’d done this to Komaeda. It seems strange to think about now, now that he’s obviously discarded any regard for mercy, tearing Komaeda apart and leaving him wordless and salivating with deliberate flicks of his fingers.

Komaeda claws his fingers down Hinata’s collarbones when the third finger enters him, and that’s apparently the last of Hinata’s self control up in flames - he swoops down, and their teeth click together before they can get themselves in proper order. It isn’t kissing, really - they’re both too caught up for that, Hinata’s movements unravelling and becoming hasty and graceless, rhythm stuttering, Komaeda too caught up in whimpering pathetically (against Hinata’s mouth). It’s not even a conscious gesture, really, when he realises Hinata’s hard cock is pressed up against him, to reach out with his robot hand and curl his fingers around him.

“Komaeda-” He revels in the filthy gasp that jumps from Hinata’s lips when he starts stroking him.

“Let me,” Komaeda whispers, “Please?”

“Is that like-” He sucks on Komaeda’s lower lip, exhales a harsh breath, because Komaeda hadn’t even bothered to stop, “Even a _question-_ uh, _fuck-”_

Hinata is quieter than him as a general rule, so the way he settles against Komaeda, burying his face against his neck and breathes little rhythmic noises against his throat, the way grinds into his grip, _shudders_ for him, makes him turn giddy.

“Here,” Hinata says after a moment, hips arching up. Komaeda stops, panting, as Hinata’s fingers tangle with his own, as Hinata moves, lining their cocks up together.

Komaeda _flinches,_ heat snapping down his spine.

“Nono _no,”_ he whines, thrashing a little beneath him, “ _Can’t,_ Hinata-kun, I can’t _take_ it, I’m close-”

“Close?” Hinata breathes, “Do you still want-?”

Komaeda just lets out a whine and scratches at Hinata’s hip with his free hand. It’s apparently a good enough answer for Hinata - Komaeda is relieved he doesn’t make him spell it out for him, mostly because he’s not even sure if he can _._

“Fuck,” Hinata says, voice throaty and dark, “ _Fuck_ , okay, just- give me a minute- just-” He starts tearing at his shirt, eyes frantic, gestures quick and almost panicked as he gets it open, moving down to his pants and snatching at the waistband.

“Please-” Komaeda begs as the offending garments are tossed into the ether.

“Okay,” Hinata breathes, “I’ve got you-” Hands tilting his hips up, clutching hard enough to bruise, maybe, “Tell me if I hurt-”

Komaeda is beyond it.

The miniscule part of him that still has the presence of mind to be amused only _wishes_ there were still operational cameras on the island to capture Hinata’s utterly shocked face when Komaeda _lunges_ back against him. He clearly hadn’t been prepared, emotionally or physically, to be inside Komaeda that suddenly.

His closes his eyes slowly. “Komaeda.” He sounds strangely serene, given the situation. “Don’t _ever_ do that again. Unless you _actually_ want me to come early. Which I’m pretty sure you _don’t_.”

Komaeda knows the giddiness is reaching critical mass, because he only feels the urge to laugh in response.

Hinata cracks an eye open. “Something funny?”

“Nothing!” Komaeda promises.

“Good.”

Hinata kisses him, then, as he rocks into him, forcing a breathy noise from Komaeda. This part is _always_ good, having Hinata inside him, opening up for him. He cranes his head back with a sharp whimper, tears springing to his eyes as Hinata fucks him, slow, but careful about it, deliberate, like he wants Komaeda to _feel_ all of it. Hinata had been startled when he’d cried the first time they’d done this. Komaeda doesn’t think he understood that it’s not out of pain - it’s just that being like this, so close to Hinata, is overwhelming enough to snatch control away from him, leaving him a trembling, weepy mess.

Hinata slows. Komaeda lets out a strangled, needy sound, reaching blindly for Hinata, sinking his fingers into skin, searching.

“Komaeda.” His voice is hoarse. Deliberate. “Open your eyes for me.”

Komaeda does.

His heart stops. He could almost laugh.

He _had_ forgotten about the gun. How unlike him.

“...Do you want to finish this?” Sunlight glances off dark, polished metal. The glare is nothing next to Hinata’s eyes.

Komaeda takes a breath. Blinks back tears. Nods.

“Do you trust me?” Hinata asks him. The gun trembles in his hand.

“ _Yes_ ,” Komaeda whimpers, high and broken, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“Eyes open, then,” Hinata says, as though there was ever a chance Komaeda would close them, “Look at me.”

Komaeda’s breathing hard and fast – Hinata is too, hand shaking harder, more violent, as he reaches forward.

“I mean this,” Hinata tells him, gun against his forehead, “What happens next. I mean it.”

“I know,” gasps Komaeda, hand clutching at Hinata’s wrist, fingers scrabbling, scratching hard enough to leave welts, not to push away but just to _feel_ , to sink his fingers into skin and keep him grounded, keep him knowing this is _real._

It’s not like last time – he feels weightless, almost.

Hinata swallows.

Komaeda lets go.

_C_

_l_

_i_

_c_

_k_

Hinata stares down at him, a loud exhale filling the room - Komaeda doesn’t know if it’s his or Hinata’s. For a moment, Komaeda can’t do anything but shiver so hard he has the delirious thought that the rattling of his bones might be audible.

He sobs, then, dry and heavy and high in his lungs, so hard he thinks his bones might crack. “Please,” he begs, fingers, flesh and metal, clawing at Hinata’s hips, his chest, anywhere he can reach, “ _Please_ , Hinata-kun, I _need_ -”

He can almost _hear_ Hinata snap. He actually moves like he’s about to hurl the gun in the general direction of the exosphere, but uses the very last vestiges of his rational brain to lean over and set the gun on the floor. Then he moves, leveraging Komaeda’s hips up off the ground, almost bending him in half so he can lunge forward and kiss him, open-mouthed. Komaeda lets out a high, keening cry when Hinata pushes back inside of him, burying himself deep. Komaeda breathes in the hoarse noise that escapes Hinata’s throat, throw his arms around Hinata’s neck so he can pull him closer, knowing he can never be close enough. He claws urgent, desperate fingers down Hinata’s back, makes him growl, snap his hips forward, pressing so deep and hard that stars go skittering across Komaeda’s vision.

It doesn’t take much - the click of the empty chamber had shattered him, and now he’s falling to pieces, waiting to smash on the floor. Komaeda lets out a high-pitched noise that’s torn from some dark, desperate place within him, snapping his hips up against Hinata, digging nails, keratin and metal, into his back and tearing at skin as he comes, spilling so hard it almost _hurts_ . The last thing he knows is Hinata _snarling_ and shuddering, and then-

The chandelier above is bright and shining, casting crystalline rainbows on the darkened ceiling. Komaeda blinks through the fuzziness in his head, staring up at the rainbows patterning the world above him. A breeze tickles at his skin, glancing off sweat and making him break out in goosebumps, a shiver raking down his spine.

“Cold?” Hinata’s voice drifts through the ether.

Komaeda blinks, barely able to keep his eyes open. He manages to pull a negative sound from somewhere.

“Okay. Good.”

There’s a pause. Komaeda’s vision doubles again.

“So,” Hinata says, almost conversationally, “You blacked out.”

“Huh,” Komaeda mumbles out, trying and failing to lift his head.

“You okay?”

“Mmmm.” The ceiling is wonderful. And high. And wonderful. It’s a good ceiling. Hinata has good hands, playing with his hair like that, ten fingers, gentle tangles.

“Uh, Komaeda, hey,” fingers waving in front of his eyes, “I’m gonna either need your eyes to focus or for you to give me at least one full word.”

Komaeda blinks heavy eyelids. Stares up at Hinata, the sunlight streaming through the window, turning his hair almost golden.

“Glorious,” he murmurs.

“...I mean,” Hinata says, “Sure.”

He pats Komaeda’s head. Komaeda doesn’t have the presence of mind to process how awkward it is. Maybe next time. He drifts as Hinata adjusts him, moves him so that he’s lying with his head in Hinata’s blanket-draped lap.

“You too,” he thinks he hears Hinata say, but his head is swimming - the crash is coming, like it does every time they do this, his abysmal stamina finally catching up with him. Maybe Hinata’s right about there being a point to taking his medication after all.

He blinks himself alert when Hinata shakes him gently. “Uh, hey,” he says, “I know you’re wiped out, but we should get cleaned up, because I _really_ don’t know how we’d explain this if we get caught.”

He does have a point. It’s just that Komaeda’s limbs feel heavy like they’re submerged in water right now.

“...I can carry you back if you want.”

It’s a pleasing thing to think about, even if he’d never let Hinata inconvenience himself like that. He lets Hinata help him sit up, blinking tired eyes, feeling stiff and sore down to his bones. The warm hand on his back leaves him when he steadies, and Komaeda tries to shake himself awake as Hinata leans across the wasteland of chaotic blankets to find his shirt.

“ _Hinata-kun!_ ” Komaeda is alarmed, sure he’s more pale-faced than usual, as he catches sight of Hinata’s back.

Red twin trails are carved into his flesh, one raised and swollen, heavy grazed streaks that will fade to purple and blue in a few short hours, the other gouged into the skin of Hinata’s back, oozing viscous trails of blood. Like a crude impression of wings.

It’s not the first time it’s happened.

 _(“Oh my god_ **_Tanaka saw_ ** _and I had to make up some story about how we were doing battle in the moonlight and then he  talked to me about forgotten arcane sealing rites for twenty minutes. Also do you know he calls you the Snowy Demon now? Anyway I think he bought it, he gave me this paper talisman with this language I’ve never seen before on it because he thinks you ‘poisoned my aura’ when you scratched me, whatever that means. Then he started going on about how it might not be enough and talking about conducting congress with ancient and malevolent entities of which even he has little understanding. I’m pretty sure he implied something about human sacrifice at one point. But that’s when I walked away because that’s… really not cool.”)_

“Hey,” Hinata says, clearly having taken notice of Komaeda’s mute, horrified staring, “It’s fine.”

“I _savaged_ you,” Komaeda protests.

“It’s… kinda flattering,” Hinata says, cheeks flushing a little. “Besides, I guess we’re even now, right?”

He looks relaxed, even as he aims a pointed glance downwards at the damage he’d done to Komaeda’s thighs. Komaeda feels the cool rush of  relief in his veins. He’s been useful, today.

“Hinata-kun is much, much brighter when he’s happy,” he remarks, “Not that you’re not _always_ bright. But now you’re blinding.”

“It looks really nice on you too,” Hinata says, and when Komaeda opens his mouth to respond he cuts in with, “Game’s still going, by the way.”

Komaeda closes his mouth. He picks up his abandoned book to give his fingers something to dig into to battle the agitation that wells up in his chest.

Hinata sighs as he shrugs his shirt back on. “Fuck. I _definitely_ got blood on the sheets.”

“That’s not new.” It isn’t. Komaeda sometimes wonders about it – if other people bleed so much during sex. He suspects his reference level is in tatters.

Hinata groans, expression tortured as he starts closing his buttons. “It’ll stain. Not to mention all the other... _gross_.”

“Isn’t that what the laundry room is for?”

“Are you _kidding?_ We have to _burn_ them. The others will know it was us.”

“How?”

Hinata raises his head, gives him a perfectly incredulous stare. “Because who _else_ would it be?”

Komaeda shrugs. “They can put us on trial if they care so much,” he says, “Like anyone could get the better of you in an argument.”

Hinata looks like he wants to laugh. “Especially with you on my side.”

Komaeda finds himself so startled he drops the book in his hands. It goes tumbling into his lap, bouncing off his thigh, drawing a wince from him, thumping against the floor in a way that feels strange and final.

“I’m-”

“Game’s _still_ in effect, in case you were wondering,” Hinata cuts in, giving him a stern look.

“You never said what the penalty is for losing,” points out Komaeda.

“That sounds weirdly like you’re challenging me, Komaeda,” Hinata says.

Komaeda barely even hesitates. “I would never, Hinata-kun.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Komaeda knows he has no business feeling it, but a vague tremor of annoyance hums in his chest. Hinata finishes slipping back into his pants, sits up on his knees.

“I just need to breathe for a second,” he says, “Fresh air, you know? And I guess, you know, if you were to insult yourself while I was out of the room, I’d have no idea, would I?”

“...Understood,” Komaeda says.

“Also,” Hinata says, “You’re a thousand times better at folding than I am, so…” He waves at the massacred sheets and general havoc surrounding them. “Have fun, I guess.”

Komaeda watches him advance towards the door for a moment.

“Hinata-kun?”

Hinata pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Komaeda says, “It’s just.”

He hesitates. There’s so much he could say.

“Thank you,” is what he settles for.

Hinata looks surprised. He’s silent for a moment, but the look in his eyes is soft.

“It’s fine,” he says, “Seriously.”

Komaeda isn’t sure it is. He appreciates Hinata’s reassurance all the same.

He spends a while looking down at himself, tracing bitemarks bleeding into bruises with hesitant fingertips.

If it’s strange to smile, he doesn’t think about it.

  


Komaeda _is_ a thousand times better at folding than Hinata is. That part is true.

The other truth is that Hinata needs him distracted.

He wanders over to the library door and pushes it open, throwing a hand up to shield his squinting eyes as he enters the bright sunlight. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Komaeda hasn’t followed him, knowing, of course, that he hasn’t, that he could tell Komaeda to do anything now and expect to be obeyed.

He isn’t sure _how_ that makes him feel. He’d asked Komaeda if he’d trusted him. Komaeda had told him yes. He isn’t sure if Komaeda realised he’d been talking about taking responsibility, about doing the right thing, instead of trusting him not to lie.

He isn’t sure if he’ll ever ask, either.

He lets out a sigh, leaning his back against the closed door as he lifts the hem of his untucked shirt. He takes the gun out from where he’s tucked into his waistband, staring down at it for a moment, but only a moment. The universe might _allegedly_ like to work in his and Komaeda’s favour, but he still doesn’t particularly enjoy the thought of one of the others wandering by because of a lousy split of odds and having to explain why he’s standing there with a cracked bloody lip, deep scratches on his back, dishevelled hair and clothes, and a gun in his hands.

He bites his lip as he flicks the chamber out, reaching into his pocket and mentally counting out each of the five bullets as he puts them back where they belong. He’d been testing his luck in more ways than one, of course. Unloading the gun while he’d had Komaeda on his belly had been a stupid, risky move, and sure, he’d been tempting his luck - but he’d done it on purpose. He considers for a fleeting moment that Komaeda had known, somehow, but it’s easily dismissed when he thinks about Komaeda at the end there.

He knows not even Komaeda could fake _that_ reaction.

Hinata had gotten what he’d wanted. He thinks.

When he’s reloaded the chamber properly, he hides the gun away again, making sure his shirt drags low enough to cover it.

Komaeda is back in his wrinkled t-shirt and underwear when Hinata comes back into the room, crouched over a pile of folded blankets in a neat pile. Hinata’s thought process neatly skirts around the _highly_ visible bloodstains.

“Hey, Komaeda?”

Komaeda glances up. Hinata has to take a pause, struck by how wrung out and _sick_ he looks, dark circles slashed under his eyes, a too-sharp jawline and jutting collarbones. It shouldn’t shock him - Komaeda might be better, but he’s never looked _well._

“Your hair. It’s all tangled again,” Hinata complains. He walks over and plants a hand in it. _He_ knows it isn’t tangled much at all. He wonders if Komaeda does.

Komaeda just looks amused. “It’s bound to happen when I’ve spent the afternoon being thrown around by you, Hinata-kun.”

“I did not _throw you around,”_ Hinata protests. “...Anymore than you wanted me to.”

Komaeda lets out a contented-sounding hum. “I suppose.”

He keeps folding. Hinata takes the opportunity to surreptitiously shove the revolver under a stray pillow.

“So, uh,” says Hinata, “What do you want to do after this?”

Komaeda pauses, hands tangled up in a blanket. “You mean together?”

“Well,” Hinata says, “Once I’ve taken a shower and washed all the blood off… yeah?”

Komaeda actually looks _content_ at the thought. “If it’s in Hinata-kun’s presence, I’m happy.”

Hinata hesitates. He knows it’s his choice, whether he trusts Komaeda or not.

He plants a hand in Komaeda’s hair again. “Wanna do something…”

 _Normal,_ is what he’d been about to say -  only he just can’t bring himself to. _What do either of us know about that?_

Komaeda is still looking at him with expectant eyes.

“I mean.” He clears his throat. “You wanna go get shaved ice or something?”

Komaeda’s smile is radiant.

Hinata trusts this one.

**Author's Note:**

> i literally think about komahina 24/7/365 so if u feel like mindmelding about this tremendous mess OR related materials then visit me on tumblr @starsinew OR twitter @fantasangria
> 
> i'm fucked fam


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